


Entangled

by missselene



Series: Sherlock & Sanjay [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character(s) of Color, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dancing, Developing Relationship, F/M, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Jealous John, Lonely Sherlock, M/M, Oblivious John, One-Sided Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Online Dating, Sherlock loves dogs, Tender Sex, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-10-20 03:12:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10653717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missselene/pseuds/missselene
Summary: Sherlock knows John will never return his feelings. So what if he decided to look for love elsewhere?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few warnings before you start reading: This is **not** a Johnlock fic. Sherlock's deep love for John will be a theme throughout the fic and it _might_ end in Johnlock, but the focus will be on Sherlock's relationship with an original character.
> 
> I don't imagine many people will be interested in this, but I wanted to explore the idea of Sherlock in a relationship with someone other than John. Apparently this is what S4 can do to a hardcore Johnlock shipper.
> 
>  
> 
> ETA: **PLEASE DO READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE BEFORE YOU START READING**

_April 2018_

Sherlock’s index finger hovered above the mouse button, one click away from making his profile public. His eyes flew over the photos he’d chosen, the words he’d written about himself, hesitating.

He still couldn’t believe he was doing this, something so trite and unimaginative as joining a _dating website_. His younger self would have sneered at this, but now… for all his intellect, he couldn’t think of any other way out: out of this crushing loneliness that was eating away at him. He didn’t think he’d ever felt lonelier in his life. Well—correction: he’d never felt lonelier at a time when he was in active, regular contact with John. His time away fighting Moriarty’s web and the horrible weeks after Mary’s death were certainly worse than this. But other than that, John’s occasional presence always used to be enough. It used to be enough to be John’s friend and colleague, the godfather to his daughter. Much less than what Sherlock longed for, but much more than he deserved, and therefore enough.

But something had changed, and one didn’t have to be a deductive genius to figure out when. One day, John’s nagging about The Woman and romantic entanglements simply became too much. Sherlock finally snapped and told John very clearly that he was gay. After that, not even John could be blind enough to miss the obvious, and just like that, Sherlock’s hopeless, unrequited feelings were out in the open, hanging in the air between them like an invisible barrier. To Sherlock’s indescribable relief, John still wanted to be friends, but he had withdrawn slightly. Perhaps Sherlock had, too – afraid he’d overstep, make John uncomfortable by being too eager for his company. In any case, the time they spent together dropped by approximately 23%. John still joined him for cases when his work schedule allowed, but was unlikely to stay for takeaway or a glass of whiskey afterwards. They still played with Rosie, but when she fell asleep or was happy to entertain herself on her own for a while, they wouldn’t just sit on the sofa together to watch a movie like before.  John started standing a little further away, avoiding touching Sherlock when he didn’t have to.  No more claps on the back, no more pats on the shoulder, no more manhandling Sherlock when he was being uncooperative. No more of those casual, platonic touches that were everything to Sherlock. Sherlock understood, of course – he had only himself to blame, after all.

It was then that the loneliness began creeping in, as if Sherlock had still harboured some misguided shred of hope that John might return his feelings, but that was now lost, leaving only cold emptiness in its wake. He was fine while he was with John or Rosie – he was happy then. But once they left the misery set in, and work and experiments could only keep it at bay for so long. Once he caught himself wrapping himself tightly in a blanket and imagining it was not a blanket but someone’s arms, and he realised, to his own shock, that what he wanted was a hug – not necessarily from John, although that would of course be preferable, but simply a hug. Someone to comfort him, as pathetic as it sounded.

He thought about Rosie, about how much he loved hugging her, holding her, cuddling her. It made him realise how much he actually enjoyed physical affection, even though he’d been fine without it for most of his life. That in itself was not exactly new – he’d built a shrine in his mind palace for both the precious times when he and John had hugged, and he treasured every fleeting touch John had bestowed on him – but he had thought it was limited to John. He loved John; it made sense he’d want to physical affection from him.  He didn’t realise he could just want it _in general._

But he clearly did. The more he thought about it, the more aware of it he became. He wanted much more than he could get from a toddler. He wanted someone to hold _him_. Someone to stoke his hair like his mother used to do when he was little. To know what it would be like to curl up next to someone on the sofa. Someone to _want_ Sherlock to touch them. But who could he get any of that from? Not John, certainly. And who else was there? Lestrade could be relied upon to provide a manly bear hug in the right circumstances and Mrs Hudson had her moments of motherly fussing, but Sherlock couldn’t imagine either of them, nor anyone else he knew, giving him what he now knew he craved.  The tenderness he imagined was probably more consistent with a… romantic relationship.

He hadn’t thought about dating since his late teens, when he’d dismissed as pointless and a waste of time. And now… he was almost forty, and his experience consisted of one pretend relationship and a few instances of flirting for a case, and eight years of desperate pining for a straight man. Would he really be able to change it now? Could he even imagine himself with someone other than John?

Sherlock had pondered the matter for weeks, examined his needs and wants, second-guessed his desires. In the end, though, there didn’t seem much he could lose by trying – at worst, he would remain alone (which was the most probable outcome, really – he didn’t have much to offer, in this respect). But if he was lucky, he could maybe find someone to assuage his loneliness and show him a little affection. Surely it wasn’t too much to ask to want a little more than whatever crumbs John threw his way? Besides, John had allowed his current girlfriend to meet Rosie, a privilege that neither of the other two women he had been involved with since Mary’s death had been granted, which indicated that the relationship was serious. If he had to watch John be swept up in domestic bliss again, it would surely be easier if he had a tiny bit of it himself.

Which was how he’d found himself here, staring at the computer screen, his profile picture staring right back at him. (It was probably not very good for dating purposes, he thought now – his expression was stony and probably intimidating, but taking pictures of himself was annoying and boring and he couldn’t be bothered to try for a better one.) He’d evaluated online dating to be his best bet – it saved him the trouble of having to go out and _mingle_ and engage in those frankly baffling mating dances that apparently came naturally to other people but that he had to study and then perform like an act – that was fine for cases, but not when he wanted someone to _actually_ like him. And more importantly, this approach allowed him to list his requirements and… limitations right from the start. He couldn’t imagine anything more embarrassing than having to explain to someone that he was not only rude and impatient and had weird habits and interests, but had also managed to make it to his late thirties without a single sexual experience and was hopelessly in love with his best friend. This way, he could just write it down, and everyone would know what they were getting into.

This was the only way he could think of to get around the biggest obstacle: the fact that he was unlikely to ever stop loving John. He didn’t want to hurt anyone by being unable to return their feelings. He found it hard to imagine that anyone could fall in love with him, but Molly had, so it was clearly not impossible, and the last thing Sherlock wanted was to make someone else as miserable as he himself felt. So he had to be honest from the start: his heart was unavailable and likely to remain so. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could find someone for whom this wouldn’t be a problem, someone who’d want care and affection and companionship from him, but not love. In the end, he couldn’t be the only one in the UK who’d fallen irrevocably in love with the wrong person and was looking for someone to soothe the wounds.

He sighed, scanning over the profile one last time. He felt incredibly wrong-footed and more than a little foolish, but he was tired of loneliness and fruitless longing. He had to look for happiness where he had a chance of finding it.

Feeling like he was about to walk naked into a courtroom full of people, he pressed _‘Publish’_.


	2. Chapter 2

_June 2018_

Sherlock paced by the entrance to a café on Hampstead Heath, feeling incredibly out of place in one of his usual suits. It hadn’t occurred to him to wear anything but his normal clothes, but now he couldn’t help feeling like he was sticking out like sore thumb among more casually dressed park-goers. He had gone to parks dressed like this plenty of times, with Rosie or just to stretch his legs, and he’d never minded in the slightest, but now he was convinced that everyone was looking at him and that they all must know he was here waiting for a date.

They didn’t, of course. People were idiots. They wouldn’t notice anything even if there was a giant neon sign saying FIRST DATE floating over Sherlock’s head.

Sherlock’s foray into online dating had mostly brought him conviction that the internet was full of sex-obsessed idiots with extremely basic reading comprehension skills and a pervasive inability to spell words containing more than four letters correctly. He’d expected that a profile like his was unlikely to catch many people’s attention, but it turned out that plenty of men were ready to selflessly offer to relieve him of his virginity, or convinced that the only reason why Sherlock was still in love with John was because he hadn’t yet become closely acquainted with their penis. Sherlock almost deleted his profile within a couple of days in a fit of frustration.

Eventually, though, he had found himself talking to a few people who’d expressed commiserations on being in love with a straight men. The interaction didn’t come naturally to him – he never really knew how to just “talk”, and it was even more difficult without the other person’s body language and facial expressions to help him interpret their meaning. But he tried. Some of them were easier to talk to than others, but in the end there was only one who really caught Sherlock’s interest.

Sherlock glanced at his watch. Still more than ten minutes until their agreed time. Why had he come so stupidly early?  He rocked on the balls of is his feet, trying to stifle the odd mixture of anxiety and vaguely pleasant anticipation that filled his stomach, and scanned his surroundings and the people milling about for the face he knew only from a few photos.

His date’s name was Sanjay. He was 37 and worked as a lecturer of pharmacology at University College London (he had never actually specified his place of work, but it had been laughably easy to deduce). The fact that he was intelligent and a fellow scientist certainly went a long way to make talking to him possible, but the main reason why Sherlock felt drawn to him was that he seemed to actually understand how Sherlock felt. Most people, Sherlock had found, believed that unrequited feeling hurt but were, ultimately, temporary: that love could not sustain itself without reciprocation. But Sanjay’s situation, while different from Sherlock’s, was ultimately similar and meant that Sanjay knew it was perfectly possible to love on your own. Like Sherlock, Sanjay loved someone he could not be with, and like Sherlock, he wanted to find happiness with somebody else but was worried it would be unfair of him to ask them for something he couldn’t fully return. They seemed to be uniquely well suited in what they looked for in partner, and Sherlock hoped it was the truth and not just his wishful thinking clouding his judgment.

Lost in his nervous thoughts, Sherlock didn’t notice a chocolate Labrador approaching him until it started sniffing at his feet.

“Oh, hello there,” Sherlock said, bending down to scratch the dog’s head. He recognised him: it was one of Sanjay’s dogs. The first thing that had drawn Sherlock to Sanjay was the fact that all of his profile pictures included a dog, and Sherlock had suggested meeting in a park specifically so that Sanjay could bring his dogs along – even if the date was a disaster, Sherlock would at least get to pet two dogs, which would make it more than worth the trouble. “You’re Kip, aren’t you? Where’s your master, hmm? Or did he send you alone?”

He looked up, and then he saw him.

Sanjay was better-looking in person than in photos. He was wearing dark blue jeans, a chequered shirt, a beige jacket, and rimless glasses - he didn’t have glasses in any of the photos Sherlock had seen, but Sherlock immediately liked how they made him look. He was only about two inches shorter than Sherlock, with hair just long enough to fall in his face but too short to stay tucked behind his ears. He looked effortlessly, casually elegant, although it was obvious that there was in fact nothing effortless about it – he had clearly changed his shirt at least three times before settling on this one. There was a clear indentation on his left-hand ring finger: he was clearly in the habit of wearing a wedding band and had only removed it shortly beforehand. Someone with very basic observation skills might take him for a married man who removed his ring for clandestine meetings, but a closer look told a different story and identified him for what he was: a widower who had not let go of his spouse. He hadn’t put his wedding ring in his pocket, or his wallet.  No, he’d put it on the gold chain that was just visible under his shirt collar. Together with his husband’s ring, obviously.

Sherlock had known that, of course. Sanjay’s husband had died four years ago, but Sanjay still felt himself bound to him, and while he craved the care and support of a committed relationship, he wasn’t sure he could fall in love again. Sherlock had known that, but the deduction made everything that had so far been only words on a screen much more real. He wasn’t the only one here who was desperately trying to fight loneliness – he could actually make a difference to someone’s life.

“It seems my dog knew who I was looking for,” Sanjay said with a slightly nervous smile. “Will, right?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said awkwardly, straightening up. He’d given his name as William to everyone he talked to online - the last thing he needed was for his fumbling attempts at dating to appear in some tabloid for John to read about. He held out his hand. Was a handshake too formal for a date? Probably, but Sanjay didn’t seem fazed. His grip was pleasantly firm.

Sherlock looked back at the dog to hide his uncertainty. “He seems like a very clever boy.”

Sanjay chuckled. “Yeah, he is.” He seemed as unsure of himself as Sherlock felt.

“And what about the other one, the border collie?” Sherlock asked in a desperate attempt to prevent an awkward silence. Sanjay had two dogs, and Sherlock had been looking forward to both of them.

“I left Jess at home, she’s an old lady now and can’t really keep up with this little menace,” Sanjay said, indicating Kip, who was waggling his tail enthusiastically and clearly impatient to get going.

“That’s a shame.”

Sanjay smiled. “Well, Kip has enough energy for at least five dogs, I don’t think you’ll be bored. And I hope I won’t be terrible company myself.”

Sherlock bit his lip. He’d cocked it up already, hadn’t he?

“Sorry, I… didn’t mean to make it sound like I only came for your dogs.” He clearly had no idea how to behave on a date, what to say. Why hadn’t he done some more research? He had researched common conversation topics and appropriate behaviour during that thing with Janine, but had long since deleted it. Besides, he didn’t think that what had worked well enough to charm her would work now – it all seemed so much more complicated when it was for real.

Sanjay didn’t seem offended, however. “That’s good to hear,” he said with a grin. Sherlock tried not to sag in relief too visibly. “Although I’d get it if you had, they’re pretty awesome.” He glanced at the café. “So do you want to grab a coffee first, or go for a walk…?”

“I don’t mind either way, but I think this one would prefer a walk after being cooped up in a car.”

“Yeah, that’s… how do you know we came in a car?” Sanjay looked at him with a confused frown.

“The keys in your pocket,” Sherlock said, gesturing towards Sanjay’s left trouser leg. “The outline of a car key and remote is very distinctive.” As Sherlock looked at the pocket now, he became aware that Sanjay’s jeans were actually rather tight. He had noticed before, of course, but… differently. Now he had to tear his gaze away, hoping that he wasn’t blushing.

… and now Sanjay undoubtedly thought Sherlock had noticed because he’d been _checking him out_. Which, he supposed, would be a normal thing for him to do, given that they were on a date, but it wasn’t how Sherlock was used to looking at people.

Now he was _definitely_ blushing.

They set out along a walking trail, throwing sticks for Kip to fetch as they went. They kept the conversation to the safe topic of dogs, and Sherlock eventually began to relax as Sanjay spoke about Kip and Jess’s antics. As his self-consciousness dispersed, he was able to change the subject to Sanjay’s research. He’d found Sanjay’s most recent article very interesting and there were some details he wanted ask about.

“So,” Sanjay said eventually, “we’ve discussed my dogs and my work at length, but I haven’t heard anything about you. You seem to know an awful lot about immunogenetics for a… police consultant, or whatever it is you do.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I’m easily bored, and I take an interest in a variety of fields to pass the time.” He hesitated. Sanjay was clearly exactly who he had claimed to be and Sherlock felt comfortable with him – there was no need for him to continue hiding behind the façade of Will. “And I’m not a police consultant, exactly. I… should probably begin by saying that while William is my first name, I actually go by Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.”

“Hang on.” Sanjay stopped in his tracks and examined Sherlock’s features with a slight frown. “I _thought_ your face seemed familiar! You’re the detective, aren’t you? The one with the hat?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said with a grimace. Did people really know him as ‘the detective with the hat’? God.  “Though I don’t actually wear the hat, in case you were wondering.”

Sanjay laughed. “Well, wow. I never expected to end up on a date with a celebrity.”

“I’m not a _celebrity_ ,” Sherlock bristled. He did serious, intellectual work. He wasn’t some brainless TV personality for teenagers to fawn over.

“You _are_ a bit famous, though… Sherlock,” Sanjay said, pronouncing Sherlock’s name as if he was testing it out on his tongue. “Sorry, I think it might take me a while to stop thinking of you as Will. What made you choose—” He trailed off, momentarily lost in thought.

“The bloke who writes about you on his blog,” he said slowly after a moment. “That’s him, isn’t it?”

Sherlock averted his gaze, bowed his head. There was no doubt as to which _him_ Sanjay meant.

“Yes,” he said quietly, looking at his feet. He didn’t add that that there had only been one blog post since John found out about Sherlock’s feelings, so it was unclear if he was going to continue the habit.

There was a brief pause. Then Sanjay said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

Sherlock lifted his head to look at him. “No, it’s fine. You can ask. I don’t particularly want to talk about it, but it’s… I need not to hide it.”

Sanjay’s eyes were a deep, rich brown and for some reason looking into them reminded Sherlock of taking a sip of tea that was just the right temperature. He held his gaze for a while, until Sanjay nodded.

“I understand.”

“And you…” Sherlock started, trying to shift the focus away from himself. “You needn’t have taken the ring off. You’re obviously used to wearing it and your hand feels weird to you without the weight of it. I don’t mind if you want to keep it on.”

Sanjay’s hand came up to his chest, absentmindedly rubbing at the spot where the two rings lay hidden by his shirt.

“I’m not sure if it would… feel right, to have it on,” he said haltingly. “But thank you. I’ll keep it in mind… for next time.” There was a slight questioning lilt to the end of his sentence: would there be a next time?

Sherlock felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. “Yes,” he said.

Sanjay returned his smile and they looked at each other in silence for a moment, until Sanjay broke into a brief laugh.

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“Nothing, just… This must be the weirdest first date conversation anyone has ever had.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. This is the only first date I’ve been on.”

“What, really? I thought you said you’d briefly dated a woman.”

“That was for a case, it doesn’t count,” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. “I only told you I’d dated her because I didn’t want to look like a _complete_ novice. Not that I could fool anyone,” he added, self-deprecating.

“Hey,” Sanjay said in a gentle but firm tone that made Sherlock look at him. “Don’t worry about that, okay? There’s no need. If it makes you feel any better, my last first date that… counted, as you say, was almost twenty years ago. I’m probably pretty rusty, so it’s not like I can judge.”

Sherlock blinked. Twenty years? Sanjay and his husband must have been in their teens when they got together.

“I didn’t realise you’d been together for so long.”

“Yeah,” Sanjay said. He smiled, a soft look in his eyes. Thinking about his late husband didn’t seem to upset him. “I was seventeen when we met, Chris was sixteen. We started dating about a year later. And as far as I can remember, our first date mostly consisted of awkward silences, so I’m really no expert.”

“And the first dates that didn’t count?”

Sanjay grimaced. “My friends have been nagging me about dating for ages now, so I did try a couple of times. But I always felt like an impostor, you know? And it’s not… it’s not that I haven’t come to terms with Chris’s death, or something. I’m at peace with that. I just—didn’t stop being married to him when he died. In my heart, I am still married to him. I think I always will be.”

Sherlock didn’t know what to say to that. He felt that a physical gesture of comfort would perhaps be suitable, but he wasn’t sure what would be appropriate at this stage, and they were walking, which made things awkward. He opted for walking a little closer, letting their shoulders bump into each other, the back of their hands brush.

Sanjay cleared his throat.

“But on the plus side,” he said, obviously trying for a more upbeat tone, “I am a great cook. And have two amazing dogs. _And_ can sweep you off your feet in a tango.”

Sherlock turned his head to look at Sanjay so fast he almost pulled a muscle. “Really?”

“Absolutely. You dance?”

“Not in ages, but I love it.”

A slow grin spread over Sanjay’s face. “Then I know exactly where we should go next time.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dancing!

The ballroom building looked rather shabby from the outside, but inside Sherlock had to admit it was rather nice, even if whoever had designed the decor evidently couldn’t decide whether they wanted to emulate the 1930s or 50s. The polished dance floor gleamed under shimmering chandeliers, surrounded by small, cosy tables. They arrived rather early so it was still mostly empty, but a band in vaguely period clothing was already playing a slow foxtrot. The faint buzz of anticipation that Sherlock had been feeling throughout the days leading up to his and Sanjay’s second date intensified exponentially and his body positively _itched_ to start moving to the music.

“Here you go.”

Sherlock accepted the flute of champagne Sanjay handed him and took a sip. It was included in the entrance fee and therefore cheap, but Sherlock found he didn’t really care. He needed the alcohol to make him relax. He wanted to dance, yes, but that didn’t mean the prospect didn’t also make him nervous.

Sanjay looked dashing in a deep burgundy suit that flattered his figure and complexion. Sherlock had told him so when they met by the entrance (well, he’d tried: what came out was “You look. Um. Good.”, which was significantly less eloquent than he wanted to be), and the way Sanjay’s eyelashes fluttered shyly as he thanked him made something warm and pleased spill inside Sherlock’s chest, and since then Sherlock could not stop thinking about the fact that they would soon be touching.  They had not touched at all during their date in the park, aside from shaking hands and brushing against each other as they walked. Simply holding one of Sanjay’s hand’s in his and having the other on his back or shoulder seemed like a lot. It was interesting – Sherlock was sure that if he were to dance with any of the other people in the room, he wouldn’t think about it twice, but the context – the fact that they were on a date – amplified the importance of these simple touches (not to mention the fronts of their bodies touching, which was technically speaking the correct position for standard dances).

The significance felt similar to the time when he’d taught John to dance, but better, in a way, because it didn’t have the undercurrent of hopeless longing and fear that he would somehow give himself away in the proximity. ( _Don’t think about John.)_

They lingered by their table sipping their champagne, both hesitant to take the first step, talking haltingly and avoiding each other’s gaze. The dance floor gradually filled, including several same-sex couples, and Sherlock decided he’d waited enough. He wanted to dance, and for once in his life he had a willing partner who was supposed to be a good dancer. He should make the most of it.

He gulped down the rest of his champagne and held out his hand. “Shall we?”

Sanjay smiled, happy and perhaps a bit relieved, and took his hand.

Sherlock automatically positioned himself as the leading partner, before it occurred to him that perhaps it would have been polite to ask Sanjay which role he preferred. Unfortunately the etiquette of leading and following between partners of the same gender had not been included in the dancing lesson his grandmother insisted on when he was a teen. But Sanjay didn’t seem to mind and assumed the following position without hesitation, resting his left hand on Sherlock’s upper arm.

They had an easy, slow start with a rumba, which allowed them to begin a bit wider apart, and Sherlock was briefly glad he could ease into the proximity gradually, but it only took a few bars before he stopped thinking about any of that and his self-consciousness disappeared completely. There was only the music and the movement, and it felt _so good_.

When the song ended Sanjay turned them around and repositioned their arms, taking the leading role. Sherlock wasn’t sure how well it would work, since the only time he’d ever followed was when he’d been trying to teach John to lead, and even then he’d been anticipating John’s movements more than actually following his cues. ( _Don’t think about John.)_ But it turned to be easy: Sanjay was a good dancer and a good leader, and it took only a few stumbling steps before Sherlock could follow him as naturally as if he’d always done it.

They took turns leading and as they got used to each other and became more comfortable and synchronised, it got better and better. Sherlock would be hard pressed to say what felt more intense: the eye contact in Latin dances or the closer physical contact in standard ones. One thing was certain, though: by the time a Viennese waltz came on, it felt completely natural to let Sanjay’s hand on his back (it was Sherlock’s turn to follow) press him tight against Sanjay’s chest. They moved together smooth, gliding across the dance floor, and Sherlock felt almost like he was being _carried_ , so easy it was to follow the cues of Sanjay’s body.

When the music ended he was breathless and a little bit dizzy and completely exhilarated – and he had yet to experience a tango, which was supposed to be the highlight of Sanjay’s skills.

A short break followed, and Sherlock found that now it felt odd _not_ to be touching. He felt strangely exposed now that Sanjay wasn’t pressed against him.

“You’re a great dancer,” Sherlock said as they went in search of something to drink. The words were inadequate for the admiration he felt, but Sanjay still gave him the bashful, pleased smile that Sherlock was becoming really fond of.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Sanjay smiled, and it was obvious from the way he looked at Sherlock that he wasn’t just saying it to be polite.

“I’m terribly out of practice,” Sherlock said dismissively. He didn’t add that he had neglected his experiments and even a case in the last few days in order to practice all the dance steps he could think of. Mrs Hudson caught him at it once, and had been giving him odd looks ever since.

“That’s easily remedied. You clearly know how to move. Where did you learn?”

“My grandmother insisted that ballroom dancing was an essential part of a young man’s education. My brother hated it; I loved it.”

“Smart woman, your grandmother,” Sanjay said with a grin.

“She had her moments. And you?” Sherlock wondered if Sanjay’s husband had been equally good, if dancing had been something they used to do together, but he didn’t think it was his place to ask.

“A friend talked me into taking lessons with her, actually, I didn’t really want to,” Sanjay said, looking down at the glasses of water they’d just managed to get hold of. “It was – it was after Chris died. I thought I’d just go a couple of times to get her off my back, but it really gripped me. And it’s been… really therapeutic, in a way.” He looked up at Sherlock with a small, awkward smile, clearly trying to keep the mood light.

Sherlock was momentarily at a loss for what to say. His main feeling was that he was glad Sanjay had had a friend willing to help him, that he had _let_ her help him ( _Don’t think about John_ ) and that he had found something that eased the no doubt crushing level of grief – but it was clear Sanjay didn’t want to discuss that.

“Do you still go dancing with her?” he asked finally.

Sanjay shook his head. “I wish. She has a six-month-old baby now, so…”

“She’s busy with a different kind of dance,” Sherlock supplied.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t think you need to worry about being short of dance partners. There are at least three people just in my line of sight right now considering asking you to dance.”

“Are there?” Sanjay asked, but without much interest. “That’s too bad for them. I’m afraid they’ve got really strong competition.” He smiled at Sherlock, raising his eyebrows slightly, and Sherlock felt himself flush. He hadn’t really thought Sanjay would go and dance with someone else if asked, of course, but it was still nice to have the confirmation. He glared at a woman who’d been eyeing Sanjay until she turned away.

“I should hope so. I’ve been promised to be swept off my feet, I think.”

“And I’d hate to disappoint you.”

As if on cue, the band started reassembling on the stage. Sherlock and Sanjay found their place on the dance floor, greeted by unmistakable first notes of a tango.

Sanjay’s eyes sparkled.

“You don’t mind if I lead again, do you?”

“Not at all.” Sherlock was certainly beginning to see the benefits of following a competent lead, and this time he was particularly looking forward to the experience.

They positioned themselves in the tango hold, waited for the right moment in the music, and then started moving.

It was, without any doubt, the best dancing experience Sherlock has ever had. He was hardly technically perfect, but it didn’t matter. Sanjay was just as proficient as he’d implied and following him felt completely natural – Sherlock’s legs moved almost without his conscious input, fluid and then sharp.  For the first time, Sherlock could see why people called tango a three-minute love affair: no dance had ever felt more sensual, more intimate, more all-consuming. The world narrowed down to the rhythm and all the points where their bodies were in contact, moving together like one.

And then, as the music drew to a close and the last note resonated in the air, Sherlock found himself, to his complete and utter surprise, _dipped_. Actually, properly dipped. He gasped, gripping Sanjay’s hand tight and clutching at his shoulder, but Sanjay’s hold of him was strong and firm. He looked up at Sanjay’s face, smiling but intent, at his beautiful, shining eyes, and he couldn’t help but laugh – this was so completely, unexpectedly amazing.

Sanjay’s smile broadened and he chuckled in response. It sounded a little relieved, as if, until that moment, he hadn’t been as confident as he’d seemed. He pulled Sherlock up but his arm stayed all the way around Sherlock’s back, holding him close. Sherlock didn’t mind at all – on the contrary. He bowed his head a little towards the crook of Sanjay’s neck, breathing him in. Was that Diaphane by Givenchy or Firefly by Hugo Boss that Sanjay was wearing? They were very similar, but Sherlock was sure he would be able to make the distinction if only he could focus on the components of the perfume rather than on Sanjay’s own particular scent.

The music restarted, a slow waltz. Sherlock was happy to let Sanjay keep leading, although they weren’t really dancing properly now – Sanjay’s right hand was on the small of Sherlock’s back instead of his shoulder blade and the elbows of their joined arms were bent completely, not at all a proper dance posture. But Sherlock didn’t mind – this felt nice. Almost like a hug.

After a few progressive steps Sherlock realised they were dancing just the basic box step, like beginners at their first lesson, and when he lifted his head to focus on something else other than how nice Sanjay smelt and how good it felt to be close to him, he discovered they had moved to a corner of the dance floor, well away from the general swirl.

“Are we hiding from someone?” he asked playfully.

“No, but I was thinking…” Sanjay hesitated, and then said very quickly, “I was thinking I’d really like to kiss you and it would probably be better to do that somewhere we wouldn’t be in people’s way.”

Sherlock froze for a moment and Sanjay nearly stepped on his foot when Sherlock remembered to move his leg a second too late. _To kiss you._ Sanjay wanted to kiss him. Now. It shouldn’t be that surprising, given the fact that they were on a date. It had been likely to come up sooner or later. But still. It felt rather overwhelming.

Sanjay’s hand in his was getting a bit sweaty. Probably because Sherlock was taking too long to react and that was making him nervous. _Stupid._

“That,” Sherlock said, his voice suddenly a little croaky. He cleared his throat. “Was a sensible precaution.”

Sanjay looked up at him.

“Yes?” he asked, searching Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock nodded and let his gaze drop to Sanjay’s mouth. His lips were full and looked like they would be soft. Sherlock couldn’t believe he was actually going to find out.

They were no longer dancing.

Sanjay let go of Sherlock’s back and instead lifted his hand to cup Sherlock’s cheek, his thumb stroking over Sherlock’s skin. He looked at Sherlock for a moment, perhaps to make sure Sherlock wasn’t going to change his mind, or perhaps, like Sherlock, he was finding it hard to believe that he was standing on a dance floor with someone who wanted to kiss him.

And then he leaned in and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s, exquisitely gentle, lingering slightly before drawing back and meeting Sherlock’s eyes.

A breath Sherlock hadn’t realised he’d been holding left him in a rush, and he felt himself smile. Sanjay smiled back and they met halfway for another kiss, less uncertain now but no less soft, and then another, and another.

The song ended and another began, but they didn’t notice.

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Sanjay said, frowning a little. “You worked all that out simply because you noticed how deep parsley had sunk into butter?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Essentially.”

They were on a walk in Sanjay’s neighbourhood. Sanjay had suggested that if Sherlock wanted to meet Jess, Sanjay’s elderly border collie, they could meet by Sanjay’s house, go for a short walk and then drop the dogs off and go out for dinner. Sherlock had readily agreed – there was no way he was going to pass an opportunity to spend time with two dogs. He had loved Kip when he first met him, and Jess was quickly winning his heart too.

And, well. Sanjay wasn’t bad either.

“That’s amazing,” Sanjay said, awe obvious in his voice. “I knew you were brilliant, but this is even more extraordinary than I thought.”

Sherlock looked down at the ground, feeling a pleased flush rise in his cheeks. Sanjay’s praise didn’t perhaps give him the same thrill as John’s did, but it still felt incredibly good. He squeezed Sanjay’s hand briefly as a thank you. They had fumbled around a bit at first, unsure how treat each other after their last date – the touches and kisses that seemed easy on a dimly lit dance floor were suddenly much less straightforward in broad daylight. But they had relaxed into each other’s presence quickly and eventually Sherlock had mustered the courage to reach for Sanjay’s hand, and so now they were walking hand in hand, their fingers entwined. They hadn’t kissed yet today, but Sherlock had high hopes for after dinner, and this was really nice too. And the fact that Sanjay was interested in hearing about Sherlock’s latest case was a lovely bonus.

“Well, here we are,” Sanjay said as they came to halt in front of his place, a tiny house squeezed into a row of similarly tiny houses. Jess went to stand by the front door, waiting for it to open, while Kip pulled on his lead, clearly keen to continue his walk rather than returning home.

“Listen.” Sanjay turned to face Sherlock without letting go of his hand. “I know we said we’d go out, but I thought, if you wanted, you could come in? I’ve prepared some nibbles, so we could stay in, watch a movie maybe… If you wanted.”

Sherlock blinked at him, hesitating. His first instinct was to accept: he could see many benefits. First of all, he’d get to see Sanjay’s living space, which was bound to give him all kinds of new data about Sanjay. Secondly, it would mean more time with Kip and Jess. And last but not least, it was likely that Sherlock would get more of those lovely kisses sooner and in a higher amount if they were alone.

On the other hand, didn’t an invitation like this entail an implicit second meaning? Did Sanjay expect that _more_ than kissing would take place if Sherlock said yes? Sherlock didn’t think he was ready for… that. He still felt rather awkward even in the basic physicality they’d engaged in so far. There was no way he’d be able to…

“We don’t have to!” Sanjay added quickly when Sherlock didn’t respond. “It’s just an idea. And I—er. I don’t have any ulterior motives or anything, I do just mean food and telly.” He cleared his throat and his eyelashes fluttered in obvious embarrassment. Sherlock felt his cheeks heat. “But if that doesn’t sound good that’s totally fine, we can just go to the restaurant as planned. I’ll just let these guys in and we can…”

“Yes,” Sherlock said to interrupt Sanjay’s flustered babbling.

“Yes?” Sanjay repeated, as if he wasn’t sure what Sherlock meant.

“I’d love to come in,” Sherlock clarified, and he knew immediately that he’d made the right choice: Sanjay relaxed instantly and his face just _lit up_ , as if this was the best news he’d heard all week.

Inside, Sanjay’s house bore clear marks of a fairly tidy person fighting an endless losing battle against two dogs who just didn’t care. It had also evidently been partially redecorated in the last two or three years – clearly, this was the same place where Sanjay had lived with his husband, and while he was too emotionally attached to it to move somewhere else, he had made enough changes to feel like turning over a new leaf.

As Sanjay rummaged in the kitchen, Sherlock examined three framed photos displayed on a shelf. The smallest one was of, Sherlock assumed, Sanjay with his parents and sister Neela, taken with the ruins of some castle in the background. Sanjay looked about five years old and his sister seemed to be about the same age, certainly the same height – were they twins? Sanjay hadn’t said. Sherlock knew that Sanjay’s parents were no longer living, and he wondered if one of them had died soon after this picture had been taken and that was why Sanjay didn’t have a newer and less blurry one on display.

The second picture was clearly recent – Sanjay looked pretty much the same as now, only his hair was shorter. It showed Sanjay in a peach-coloured suit and a woman in a matching dress standing on either side of a curly haired woman in a bridal gown. The bride was clearly a close friend, since she’d chosen Sanjay for her wedding party and Sanjay had her picture on display – likely she was the one who’d brought him to dancing. Sherlock found he felt predisposed to like her simply based on that.

The third and largest picture was also a wedding photo, but this time from Sanjay’s own wedding. Definitely at least ten years old, possibly more. Sherlock resisted the temptation to take the photo in his hands to examine the man who had meant so much to Sanjay more closely. Chris was shorter than Sanjay, with a pale face full of freckles and a shock of bright ginger hair. Sanjay’s left arm was around his shoulders and Chris was clasping his fingers with his left hand in way that made both of their rings visible. They were looking at each other and grinning – they looked incredibly happy. John and Mary hadn’t looked this happy in any of their wedding pictures (Sherlock knew – all of them were permanently burned into his mind palace and impossible to delete). Sherlock wished, suddenly and fervently, that he could get to see Sanjay smile like this.

The way the frames were spaced out on the shelf made it clear that some other objects usually stood there and had been removed. More photos, perhaps, or other mementos of Chris that Sanjay either didn’t want Sherlock to see or didn’t feel comfortable having around while he was with another man. Sherlock itched to find out what they were and why Sanjay had felt the need to hide them even though he’d left the wedding picture out, to discover every detail of Sanjay’s past life that he possibly could. But he wouldn’t push for answers, not in this, wouldn’t obstinately seek confirmation for any deductions he might make. He had invaded John’s privacy many times and in the end, it hadn’t brought him anything good. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He was incredibly lucky to have met Sanjay, he couldn’t jeopardise this. It would be an exercise in self-control, certainly, but he was determined to let Sanjay tell him things himself when he felt comfortable and not a moment sooner.

“Are you and your sister twins?” he asked when Sanjay emerged from the kitchen with cups of tea. This was a safe question, he thought – it clearly indicated that Sherlock had looked at the pictures (and Sanjay couldn’t reasonably have expected him not to) and if Sanjay wanted to talk about any of the other two, he would.

“Yeah,” Sanjay said. “Neela’s fifty-nine minutes older, as she’d definitely point out if she were here. You’d think we’ve passed the age were _being older_ is in any way desirable, but apparently not.”

“I fear this is a trait all older siblings have in common.”

Sanjay grinned. “But don’t worry, Neela lives in Glasgow and as far as I know she’s never kidnapped anyone, so you can rest easy.” Sherlock had already warned him about Mycroft’s unfortunate inability to keep his overly large nose out of other people’s business, and luckily Sanjay had reacted with humour rather than panic.

Sanjay’s eyes looked briefly over Sherlock’s shoulder to where the photos were displayed is and a brief look that Sherlock couldn’t quite decipher passed over his face, but he said nothing.

‘Some nibbles’ turned out to be a quiche florentine, a mixed vegetable salad and an apple crumble. It was all delicious and Sherlock felt positively spoiled. He’d make sure to figure out something for their next date that would make Sanjay feel equally… _courted_ was perhaps a fitting word.

Eventually they settled on the sofa with glasses of wine to watch a biopic of someone who had apparently been an American president in the nineteenth century – it was evident from the titles that Sanjay’s on-demand service recommended to him that he favoured period pieces, and Sherlock didn’t care what they watched – he wasn’t planning on paying attention. What mattered to him was how close to Sanjay he could sit, if Sanjay would put an arm around his shoulders or let Sherlock do so, if they were going to kiss.

It turned out, however, that Sanjay wasn’t all that interested in what they were watching either. The film had barely started when Sanjay put his hand on the back of the sofa, and then his fingers touched the back of Sherlock’s neck, stroking through the hair at his nape. Sherlock couldn’t supress a shiver, it felt so good – to be touched and simply to _know_ that Sanjay wanted to touch him. Sherlock had a feeling that his smile probably looked really stupid, but he couldn’t help it.

He turned his head to look at Sanjay, who was already watching him rather than the screen.

“It seems to me” Sherlock said in a low voice, “that you do have _some_ ulterior motives after all.”

“I guess I do,” Sanjay said with a slightly sheepish smile. “You’ve found me out, Mr Detective. Any complaints?” His tone was jocular, but Sherlock new that underneath it was a genuine question, a real enquiry about Sherlock’s wishes.

“None whatsoever,” Sherlock said, and caught Sanjay’s mouth with his. He’d been wanting to do that all day and finally feeling Sanjay’s lips on his made a warm glow spread inside of him. Sanjay pulled away briefly only to take off his glasses and then returned eagerly to Sherlock’s mouth. So much for watching a movie.

Sanjay’s hand continued to stroke the back of Sherlock’s neck as they kissed, soft and slow and languid. Then Sanjay’s mouth opened and it all gained a whole new dimension as their tongues touched, tentatively at first, then with more purpose. Like on the dance floor, Sherlock was happy to yield to Sanjay’s superior skill, let Sanjay show him when to move forward and when to retreat, how to make the world around them spin. Sherlock’s heart was hammering in his ribcage and he wanted to kiss harder, open his mouth wider, press himself closer to Sanjay’s body, but at the same time, he felt that if any of that happened he’d shatter into a million pieces.

Then Sanjay buried his hand in Sherlock’s hair, dragging his fingers through the curls from Sherlock’s neck all the way to the crown of his head, and it felt so delightfully, overwhelmingly good, Sherlock could barely breathe. A needy little noise tore itself from the back of his throat, a whimper more than anything else.

Sanjay’s kisses gentled, as if he could tell that Sherlock was pretty much ready to pass out from just a bit of snogging. Gradually they trailed into the soft little presses of lips they’d started as. Sherlock sighed against Sanjay’s mouth, all the nerves in his body tingling.

“Okay?” Sanjay asked, his breath ghosting over Sherlock’s lips like a caress.

Sherlock nodded and when he opened his eyes Sanjay was smiling at him, and he looked – he looked beautiful. His face flushed, his lips swollen and glistening, his hair tousled – and something, something almost _tender_ in his eyes that made Sherlock’s heart give a hard thump.

“C’mere,” Sanjay murmured as he settled into the crook of the sofa, pulling Sherlock against him. Sherlock kicked off his shoes (at this point he felt it probably wouldn’t come across as impolite) and swung his legs on the sofa to curl up against Sanjay’s side. Sanjay wrapped an arm around his shoulders and Sherlock placed his hand on Sanjay’s chest, feeling his heartbeat. He rested his head on Sanjay’s shoulder and felt complete bliss wash over him. _This_ – this was exactly what he’d been wishing for when he first decided to set up his dating profile. And now he had it.

“I really like this movie,” Sanjay said as he pressed a kiss into Sherlock’s hair.

“Hmm, definitely one of my favourites,” Sherlock agreed.

Sanjay never put his glasses back on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for your comments and kudos, they really mean a lot to me!
> 
> Unfortunately it will take a bit longer this time before an update because I'm going on vacation. But the next chapter is the one where John finds out, so I hope you'll stick around for that!  
> <3


	5. Chapter 5

_August 2018_

In John’s defence, he often came by unannounced to 221B (well, he used to) and it had never been a problem, and this time, he actually wasn’t unannounced – he had texted Sherlock about half an hour beforehand to say he’d drop by. So he really didn’t expect to come at an inconvenient time. And he _definitely_ didn’t expect to open the door to a dimly lit living room, soft, slow music playing, and Sherlock in the middle of the room, swaying gently to the rhythm _in the arms of another man._

John thought for a second that he must be hallucinating, but he blinked and it was still there: Sherlock slow-dancing with another man, apparently so engrossed that he hadn’t noticed John coming in. The man had his back to John, so the only thing John could tell about him was that he was dark-haired and shorter than Sherlock but taller than John (although it was hard to tell with the way he had his head was bent down towards the crook of Sherlock’s neck).

Maybe he made some noise, because Sherlock’s eyes suddenly snapped open and he froze when he saw John gaping at them.

“What is it?” The man lifted his head when Sherlock stopped moving, and he turned to follow Sherlock’s gaze.

“Sorry,” John blurted, and he barely had time to notice that the man was probably of South Asian descent and looked about late thirties, before he was backing out of the door. “I didn’t mean to – I should’ve knocked. Sorry.”

He closed the door before either of the other two men could say anything. He felt perhaps even more confounded than that time he had found Janine in Sherlock’s bedroom. Was that… was Sherlock… did Sherlock have a _boyfriend_? True, Sherlock liked dancing, so John supposed it wouldn’t be impossible for him to invite someone over just to practice dancing, but the way they’d held each other was _intimate_. There was no way the man was just a dancing partner. (Sherlock certainly hadn’t held John like that during their dancing lessons before John’s wedding).

_A boyfriend_.

John himself had urged Sherlock to find a romantic partner, granted, but somehow he had never imagined Sherlock would actually follow that advice.  And he definitely stopped thinking about it when he found out where exactly Sherlock’s interests lay. It was best not to think about that. But that was sorted now, wasn’t it? If Sherlock was seeing someone, then clearly he no longer felt… anything like that for John. That was good. Right? That was certainly what John had wanted.

Although he’d never imagined it would mean he might at some point have to interact with Sherlock’s boyfriend. Sherlock’s _boyfriend_ , Jesus Christ. The hair at the nape of his neck bristled at the idea of having to talk to someone whose handprints were probably all over Sherlock’s skin. And who even was that guy? Wasn’t it sort of fast, for Sherlock to be all lovey-dovey with a random bloke when mere, what, six months ago he’d been professing his undying love for John? John would bet that this man was some sort of creep who preyed on vulnerable people. Sherlock had little experience with relationships, if any. He’d be an easy target for someone like that. If John found out that this guy pressured Sherlock into anything…

He caught himself thinking that, and was immediately ashamed of himself. He’d seen the man for about thirty seconds and was already about to write him off as a monster. What was wrong with him? And why had he run out of there like that? He hadn’t caught them doing anything… indecent. There hadn’t actually been any need for him to leave like that. He could have stayed like any normal person would do, and found out who the man was.

He hesitated at the bottom of the stairs and eventually decided to visit Mrs Hudson. She was bound to know more than he did.

“John, how lovely to see you!” Mrs Hudson said when he knocked on her door. “Is Himself not in?”

“He is, but he’s got, uh, company,” John said haltingly, not quite able to look at her.

“Oooh,” Mrs Hudson cooed, and it was immediately obvious from her tone and the delighted look on her face that she didn’t think John was referring to a client. “Is it that nice young man again?”

“I guess so.” Unless it wasn’t the only _nice young man_ Sherlock had invited to his flat. Who knew how many there had been? And what was that supposed to mean, _“again”_? How often was he around? “You’ve met him, then?” John asked, hoping that he sounded casual.

“Oh yes, once or twice -- Come on in, I’ve just made blueberry scones, they’ll still be warm -- Sherlock barely let me say two words to him, though – you know how it is in the early days, he wants him all for himself,” she said with an indulgent smile, clearly oblivious to John’s inner turmoil. “But he seemed nice, very polite. What did you think of him?” Mrs Hudson asked and pushed a plate of scones towards John, gesturing for him to sit down at the kitchen table.

_Hated him at first sight,_ John didn’t say, but it was a near thing.

“Nothing really, I barely got a good look at him. They,” he cleared his throat, “seemed to want to be left alone.” He didn’t explain that he had in fact essentially run out of there in a sudden rush of panic.

Mrs Hudson giggled. “Like I say, the early days! They probably can’t get enough of each other, Frank and I were just the same!” She didn’t seem to notice John’s wince.

“Ah, but it’s such a relief to see Sherlock like this, poor boy. It can’t be good for anyone, to be so alone for so long, even if he pretended he liked it that way. I always thought _you_ would come round eventually, but I suppose you can’t help it if you don’t feel that way.” She patted his hand in a conciliatory manner, but somehow it failed to make John feel any better.

And what did she mean, “to see Sherlock like this”? Like what? Was Sherlock any different now than he had been before? John thought about the last few times he’d seen him, but he couldn’t think of anything different about his behaviour. Was Sherlock trying to hide this… relationship from him? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Sherlock decided to keep John in the dark.

“So you’re sure it’s not just for a case?” he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. Perhaps this man was just another Janine. That would make far more sense than… anything else.

Mrs Hudson shrugged slightly. “You never know anything for certain with Sherlock, do you? But no, I don’t think so. He seems to really like him.” She beamed at him, but then she seemed to notice something in John’s expression, and she frowned slightly.

“Aren’t you happy for him?” It was said casually, almost pleasantly, but at the same time it was clear that there was only one answer John could give if he wanted to leave this room alive.

“I – of course I am, I want him to be happy,” John said and took a bite of a scone to avoid having to say anything more. It was true, though – Sherlock was his best friend, of course John wanted him to be happy. It was good if Sherlock had found someone who’d made him… get over John. John certainly didn’t want Sherlock to be… broken-hearted over him. (If that was how Sherlock had felt. Perhaps Sherlock’s feelings for John had been just a passing fling, he certainly got over them quickly enough. Or perhaps Sherlock had just been confused, little experience as he had with interpersonal relationships, and mistook friendship for something more.) John was glad Sherlock had met someone. He was just a little surprised, that was all. Surprised and protective of his friend. There was nothing wrong with that.

“These are really good,” he said, indicating the scones.

It seemed that Mrs Hudson wanted to say something more, but then they heard the unmistakable creak of the stairs and low voices talking in the hall, the front door opened and shut and then Sherlock marched in.

“Scones!” he exclaimed instead of a greeting, stuffing one into his mouth immediately. “Hello, John,” he mumbled then, his mouth full.

“Has your young man left already?” Mrs Hudson asked, apparently a little disappointed. She was far too invested in this relationship (if that was what it was), in John’s opinion.

“Hmm,” Sherlock said without providing any further explanation. He took another scone from the plate and turned to leave. “Come on, John, you’ll tell me about the case.”

John didn’t care how Sherlock knew he was here because he’d come across a strange affair Sherlock was bound to be interested in (a man had come to the A&E with his left thumb cut off and the story he had told had been more than a little suspicious – John thought it sounded exactly like Sherlock’s cup of tea) – he’d essentially forgotten all about it the moment he’d seen Sherlock and the man together.

He thanked Mrs Hudson for the scones and followed Sherlock back upstairs.

“Sorry for interrupting your date,” he said to Sherlock’s back as they climbed the stairs. Better to get it out when he didn’t have to look at him directly.

Sherlock waved a hand. “It’s fine. Sanjay had to leave anyway.”

_Sanjay,_ then. John immediately remembered that there had been a Sanjay in his class in primary school who had been a total dick, which only seemed to confirm his negative first impression, even though he knew he was being irrational.

“It _was_ a date, then?” he asked. Perhaps Sherlock would say it was just an experiment, although John couldn’t imagine on what, exactly.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, and there was something in the tone he used, in the way he stopped in the middle of the living room and finally looked at John as he said it, that made it utterly clear to John that this was real. Not an experiment, not a case. Real.

“So he’s your boyfriend?” John was glad his tongue didn’t stumble on the word.

“Yes.” It was there again – a certain… defiance in Sherlock’s tone and expression, as if daring John to question it – something that had certainly not been the case with Janine. “Now, tell me what--”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” John interrupted him, and it came out slightly angrier than he intended.

“I wasn’t aware I had to report my every move to you.”

“You know very well that’s not what I meant! Don’t you think I have a right to know my best friend is in a relationship? I’m not keeping Lara secret from you, am I?”

“No,” Sherlock admitted in a low voice and looked down on the floor, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I wasn’t trying to keep him a secret, I just didn’t want to talk about it until I felt certain. Perhaps… perhaps you can understand that this isn’t an easy to topic for me to talk about. Particularly to you.”

John felt a part of his anger drain out of him. He hadn’t considered that, that talking about romantic attachments to him might be uncomfortable for Sherlock given his (past) feelings for John. John himself certainly had no interest in getting near that particular topic – even if it was probably all resolved now, since Sherlock had found someone else.

“Sorry,” John said awkwardly. “I just meant – I want to know what’s going in your life. I can’t deduce it by looking at you the way you can.”

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, then fired off very quickly, “I’ve been seeing Sanjay for a little over two months. We met online. He’s a pharmacology lecturer and the UCL. We like to go dancing together. Is that enough?”

John blinked at him. So many things in the little Sherlock had said clamoured for his attention. How had John managed not to notice that Sherlock was seeing someone in over _two months_? Did “meet online” meant an accidental meeting or had Sherlock actually… joined a dating service, or some such thing? Surely not. And _he_ was a scientist who liked to dance. John’s medical practice and inability to dance two steps without looking at his feet probably paled into nothingness in comparison to that. Not to mention that he was tall and slim and at least five years younger than John, if not more. Perhaps it wasn’t that surprising that John hadn’t stood a chance. Not that he’d wanted to.

Although he doubted this Sanjay would know what to do with a gun.  Or how to stitch up a gash in Sherlock’s arm in the bathroom. Or how to stay calm in the face of a serial killer. Or how to soothe terrified witnesses after Sherlock insulted them. (Sherlock didn’t take him along for cases, did he? That would still be John’s job, surely.)

“Do you like him?” John asked before he could stop himself.

“Why would I spend time with him if I didn’t?” Sherlock looked at him like John was daft, which was fair enough, John supposed – that wasn’t the question he’d meant to ask. What he really wanted to know was “Are you in love with him?” but he wasn’t sure if he could bear to hear the answer.

“If you’re done with the interrogation, can we _please_ move to what brings you here? I can tell a patient sustained some sort of traumatic injury, but clearly there were some very special circumstances involved if you think it deserves my interest.”

With supreme effort, John tore his attention away from Sherlock’s love life and turned it to the strange story his patient had told him. After all, it wasn’t like it was any of his business who Sherlock touched or kissed or slept with or loved. As long as Sanjay was a decent person, there was no reason for John to have any feelings on the matter at all.

He wanted a shot of whiskey so much his throat hurt.

 


	6. Chapter 6

_September 2018_

Sherlock certainly doesn’t know much about what is common in romantic relationships, but he’s pretty certain that it isn’t usual for two adult men to wait three months before having sex. He and Sanjay are not exactly a normal couple, however, and although they never discussed it explicitly, they have reached an unspoken agreement to take things slowly. It never feels like forced waiting, or like postponing something they are unsure about; they simply follow a natural and organic rhythm, letting their relationship develop, getting to know each other, building trust.

The idea of sex always used to make Sherlock uncertain and uncomfortable, it seemed like something that was natural for other people but completely alien to him, just one more thing that set him apart. With Sanjay, though, he's gradually become certain that it is something he wants to experience, when the time is right and they are both ready. The intimacy and vulnerability of it has stopped being frightening and become instead an intriguing new mystery waiting to be uncovered.

By the time they find themselves in Sherlock’s bed, Sherlock barely feels nervous at all. He already knows what it feels like to have the entire length Sanjay’s body pressed against his, to be aroused in Sanjay’s presence, to feel an answering arousal against his thigh, and it’s no longer embarrassing. Besides, Sherlock is certain that Sanjay is the most caring and considerate person he could ever wish to experience this with. And while sex as such isn’t new for Sanjay, Sherlock knows it will still be a huge step for him, and he can only hope he’ll be able to make taking it feel as easy for Sanjay as Sanjay does for him.

It is a little nerve-racking but mostly just thrilling and exciting and completely natural to undress each other in the dimness of the bedroom lit only by a single reading lamp, to explore the places on each other’s bodies they have never touched before, to let hands roam freely over smooth skin and coarse hair, to kiss and kiss and breathe hotly into the other’s mouth, to moan and gasp without censure, to let need and want and desire build between them like a fire.  Then Sanjay kisses down Sherlock’s throat and down his chest and down his belly and further still, and the world narrows down to the wet heat of Sanjay’s mouth enveloping him, waves of pleasure rolling through him like an unstoppable tide until they reach a powerful crescendo and he cries out, helpless, stars bursting behind his eyelids.

When the intensity recedes he opens his eyes to Sanjay kissing his face and murmuring sweet words of praise, and despite the lassitude there is nothing Sherlock wants to do more than return the favour. He pushes Sanjay to lie back on the pillows and settles between his legs, mouth watering, and a hand comes to bury itself in his hair, light but grounding. Sherlock may not have any practical experience but he is inventive and a quick learner, and he doesn’t think Sanjay is likely to complain as he groans and sighs above him, his body trembling, his breaths increasingly harsh and loud, until his muscles tense and he gasps out Sherlock’s name as his climax overtakes him, shuddering through his frame and flooding Sherlock’s mouth.

Afterwards, Sherlock nuzzles his face against the inside of Sanjay’s thigh, satisfied and happy. He’s found that giving Sanjay pleasure feels just as good as receiving it, and he is so incredibly glad that he was able to give it to Sanjay, who deserves it so, so much.

But when he lifts his head and crawls back up, he finds Sanjay’s eyes are screwed shut and tears are clinging to his eyelashes. It hits Sherlock like a bucket of cold water: _he did it wrong, he hurt him, he ruined everything…_

“Sorry,” Sanjay chokes out and turns his back to Sherlock, curling up on his side and covering his face with his hands. “It’s not your fault, I’m sorry.”

Of course it’s not his fault, Sherlock realises almost immediately, when logic overtakes the first flash of panic. Sanjay clearly enjoyed what Sherlock was doing to him, and even if Sherlock hadn’t been good at it, it’s incredibly unlikely he could be bad enough to make Sanjay cry. No, this is something Sherlock should probably have anticipated: this is the first time Sanjay had sex with anyone since his husband’s death. It was bound to… stir up feelings. Bring back memories, perhaps, or maybe make him feel like he was cheating.

“It’s okay,” Sherlock says softly and scoots closer, then hesitates. “Do you… want to be alone?”

Sanjay shakes his head into the pillow and Sherlock almost sighs in relief – leaving Sanjay alone crying in his bed would go against all his instincts. He pulls the duvet over both of them and spoons up behind Sanjay, touching his shoulder tentatively, and when he isn’t rebuffed he strokes up and down his arm and presses closer, pulling Sanjay against him. He holds him close as Sanjay breathes raggedly, nuzzling the hair at the nape of his neck, smelling sweat and sex and Head&Shoulders for sensitive scalp (which turns out to be an unexpectedly pleasant combination), and occasionally kissing the soft brown skin on Sanjay’s shoulder.

When Sanjay stops shaking in his arms Sherlock reaches over him for the box of tissues on the bedside table, handing one to Sanjay.  Sanjay dries his eyes and blows his nose, then sighs deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice thick. “I didn’t expect this to happen.”

“It’s okay, I promise,” Sherlock tells him honestly. It’s dampened his post-coital happiness, certainly, but it’s not an inconvenience. Sanjay’s well-being comes first. “I get it.”

“I’m not even sure what happened, I was _fine,_ and you were phenomenal, and then suddenly I…” he cuts himself off and turns suddenly to face Sherlock. His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, but he looks incredibly earnest. “But I only thought of you, Sherlock. During. I know how this must look, but you – you mustn’t think there was anyone else on my mind, because there _wasn’t_. Can you believe that?”

“Yes,” Sherlock says simply and kisses his forehead. No one has ever made him feel as cherished and appreciated as Sanjay can.

Sanjay sighs and relaxes in his arms, resting his forehead against Sherlock’s chest.

“It was good, though, before I ruined it, wasn’t it?”

“It was amazing and you didn’t ruin anything,” Sherlock says firmly. “I mean it, Sanjay. It’s completely understandable that it made you… emotional. And I think we agreed we don’t need to hide what we feel from each other, didn’t we? Besides, my research indicates that crying after sex isn’t all that uncommon.”

Sanjay lifts his head to look at him, and Sherlock is pleased to note there is a twinkle of amusement in his eyes now.

“Your research?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“It is unwise to attempt an experiment without careful preparation. As a scientist you should know that.”

“So this was an experiment, was it?” Sanjay asks with a smile that warms Sherlock’s heart. He loves being able to make Sanjay feel better.

“Most things in life are,” Sherlock says, kissing his full lips softly.

“Does that make me your lab rat?”

“More or less.”

Sanjay is smiling fully now, his eyes crinkling. The crisis has passed. There are likely to be more situations like this in the future, but that’s okay. They can face them together.

“I suppose we’ll need to repeat the experiment to reach conclusive results,” Sanjay says, stroking over Sherlock’s hip.

“Definitely. There are many variables we need to test for,” Sherlock says with a grin and turns to lie on his back, pulling Sanjay on top of him. He’s found he rather enjoys feeling Sanjay’s weight on him.

Sanjay bows his head and captures Sherlock’s mouth with his, kissing him deeply.

“I’m so happy I met you,” he whispers, and the sincerity in his voice is heart-stopping.

“Me too,” Sherlock says, and means it completely. He can’t remember the last time he felt this good about his life – it must have been years ago, if ever. He now usually gets enough interesting cases both from private clients and Scotland Yard. Molly lets him use the mortuary, provides him with all the body parts he needs and sometimes even assists him with experiments. John has begun to show up more often since he found out about Sanjay, probably because he no longer feels threatened by Sherlock’s feelings, and Sherlock now sees him almost as often as he used to before his unfortunate declaration. Rosie is a constant delight. And on top of that, he has Sanjay, who gives him everything he lacked before, care and affection and tenderness. What more could Sherlock hope for? John loving him was never a possibility. This is the best possible life.

Sherlock brushes stray strands of hair from Sanjay’s forehead and strokes his face, enjoying both the smoothness of his cheekbones and the rasp of stubble. He traces the contours of Sanjay’s lips with his fingers and feels a shiver run through Sanjay’s body as Sanjay closes his eyes and purses his lips to press a kiss to Sherlock’s fingertips, and the impossible gentleness in such a simple gesture fills Sherlock’s heart with an intensity of emotion he can hardly bear.

“Kiss me,” he breathes and Sanjay does, hot and deep, and it doesn’t take long at all before they’re flushed and panting again, heat rising between them with renewed fervour. Sherlock lets his knees fall open so that Sanjay can slot between them and they find a delicious rhythm, and soon Sherlock’s back is arching off the bed as he moans out his pleasure into Sanjay’s mouth. His fingers dig into the strong muscles of Sanjay’s back, and he never wants to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the switch to present tense isn't too jarring - it just felt more natural for this chapter.
> 
> I'll do my best to continue updating this story at least once a week but it may not always be possible, so please forgive any potential longer breaks between chapters. <3


	7. Chapter 7

It was immediately clear to Molly that there was something Sherlock wanted to ask her for but wasn’t sure how. He _said_ he wanted to examine a pair of lungs, but he was incredibly vague about specifics and he seemed rather distracted. Molly didn’t want ask what was the matter; it was generally better to let Sherlock do things at his own pace. But it was her lunch hour and she was certainly not going to go hungry just because Sherlock couldn’t make up his mind.

“I’m just going to pop to the cafeteria for something to eat, if you don’t need me for anything,” she said pointedly, hoping he’d either spill the beans or let her go and gather his resolve in the meantime.

Sherlock looked up at her, blinked. Then, to her utter shock, he said, “I’ll go with you.”

It had to be serious if Sherlock was willing to brave the hospital cafeteria, she thought. But perhaps more personal than work-related, if he’d rather tell her over lunch? She wasn’t sure whether that made it better or worse. She only hoped she wouldn’t have to forge another death certificate.

Predictably, Sherlock turned his nose up at the lunch options and just had a cup of coffee. Molly had a chicken sandwich and tomato soup, but she could barely focus on what it tasted like with Sherlock nervously drumming his fingers on the table.

Eventually, Sherlock took a deep breath and said, “I wanted to ask about your wedding.”

That was… definitely not even close to what Molly had been expecting.

“What about it? Don’t tell me you’re not coming!” Sherlock was one of her and Greg’s closest mutual friends, and it would be disappointing not to have him there.

“No, I definitely am. But I… I was wondering if I could bring my boyfriend.”

He said it so fast Molly thought for a moment she must have misunderstood him.

“Your boyfriend?” she repeated, gaping at him. Sherlock nodded, and he… good god, was he _blushin_ g?

“But… not John,” she said, because she was an idiot who could never fail to put her foot in her mouth. She cringed, probably blushing too.

“Obviously not John,” Sherlock said evenly. “He’s already invited, why would I need to ask about him? I realise it’s rather short notice and it might be complicated with the seating plans and menus but I was hoping…”

“That’s fine,” Molly waved her hand distractedly. Why should she care about any of that? “I’m sure we can squeeze in an extra chair. But does that mean you’ve… you’re no longer…. I mean, are you…” God, how on earth was she meant to speak about love to _Sherlock Holmes_?

“Over John?” Sherlock supplied quietly. “I’m trying to be.”

“Oh. Okay,” Molly said slowly. She really, really wasn’t prepared for this conversation. “That’s, well. Um. I mean, of course you can bring him, Greg and I would love to meet him.”

“But?”

Molly sighed in frustration. “You remember Tom, don’t you?” she asked, as if anyone could possibly forget the _meat dagger_ nightmare. “I… I was with him because I was _trying to be_ over you. But I wasn’t. And I ended up… really hurting him. I’m not… I’m not saying you shouldn’t be with…”

“Sanjay.”

“… with Sanjay, you deserve to be happy. Just… be careful.”

Sherlock looked at her seriously.

“Believe me, Molly, I am. Extremely.” He didn’t elaborate, and Molly didn’t think it was her place to question him any further.

“Okay.” She smiled at him. It occurred to her suddenly that Sherlock _had_ seemed… happier, in the last few weeks. Could it be the effect of this new relationship? If so, she’d gladly have Sherlock’s boyfriend be the guest of honour at her wedding. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

Sherlock gave her an unexpectedly bright smile. “Thank you,” he said, and then he seemed to… sag a little in relief. Had he really been so nervous about telling her?

“You’re the first person I’ve told,” he said, as if in explanation.

“Really? It’s… recent, then?”

“Three months,” Sherlock said. “I would’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t want to talk about it until I felt… certain.”

“So no one else knows?”

“Mrs Hudson knows – it’s nearly impossible to keep anything from her. Mycroft knows because he’s an obnoxious busybody. And… John’s seen him but not actually met him properly. But this is the first time I’ve actually _told_ anyone. That I’ve got a boyfriend.” He definitely blushed then, but there was a small, pleased smile on his lips, and Molly caught herself thinking that he was rather sweet. Sherlock Holmes, sweet. Who knew that could happen?

“I’m really glad you told me,” she said with a smile. Sherlock had gone through so much and had loved so deeply and desperately; he deserved to find happiness. She hoped fervently that his would work out for him. She swallowed a spoonful of her soup, finally able to taste it. “So, what’s he like?”

***

Molly was happy. The wedding had, so far, gone off without a hitch. She hadn’t messed up her vows, spilled anything on her dress or embarrassed herself during their first dance. They were now down to the dancing and general merriment part of things and she and Greg finally had time to sit down in peace. She scanned the guests, looking for the one that interested her the most: Sanjay Chetty, Sherlock’s mysterious boyfriend. (He was probably not actually all that mysterious, she thought, but anyone who interested Sherlock in a romantic capacity was bound to seem that way to her.)

She had already observed him a little during lunch. He and Sherlock shared a table with John, Mrs Hudson and John’s girlfriend Lara. The conversation at their table had seemed to be mostly down to Mrs Hudson and Lara. Sanjay participated, but was often distracted by Sherlock.  Sherlock himself had never been a great conversationalist and abhorred small talk, so no one could expect much more than a few scathing remarks from him. John, as far as Molly could tell, mostly said nothing and alternated between scowling at Sanjay and looking the other way.

Now, Sherlock and Sanjay were one of the couples on the makeshift dance floor and undoubtedly the most accomplished one. Sherlock had said they often went dancing together, and it showed – they looked almost like something out of _Strictly._ Many people who had remained seated followed their movements - including John, but his gaze was far from appreciative. Molly couldn’t understand it – he _looked_ jealous, but that couldn’t be right, it would make no sense. Except what other reason could John have to be so _irritated_ by Sanjay’s presence? Although it _was_ true that there was something about him that gave her pause, too...

“Mrs Lestrade,” Greg said, and although Molly had opted to keep her own name, it still gave her a thrill to hear him call her that, “do you think it’s appropriate for you to spend so much time looking at other men?”

“Don’t pretend you aren’t as curious as I am,” Molly said. Greg’s eyes had nearly popped out of his skull when she told him who would be coming to their wedding.

“Yeah, you got me,” Greg admitted without much hesitance. “So what are your impressions?”

“I don’t know,” Molly said thoughtfully. “He seems nice, but there’s something… I don’t know, odd about him, I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“Hmm,” Greg said, watching Sanjay and Sherlock dancing. “I know why you think that. There’s nothing _odd_ about him, it’s just that he doesn’t remind you of John.”

Molly immediately realised that he was right. She had been, subconsciously, expecting Sanjay to be like John. He couldn’t be similar in colouring, obviously, but she realised she’d still been expecting someone of John’s build, general bearing, mannerisms, dress sense, _something_. Of course, she couldn’t make judgments about his personality based on the few words they’d exchanged in the receiving line, so perhaps there were more similarities there, but she didn’t think there would be many of them. Sanjay came across as soft-spoken and polite. Granted, John could seem like that as well at first sight, before you found out it was actually just a front, but Molly couldn’t imagine Sanjay hiding a similar kind of ticking bomb. Not to mention that when Molly had asked Sherlock about him, the first thing he had said was “He’s very kind to me”, and Molly didn’t think that was the first word he’d use to describe _John_. She could still see Sherlock’s face as he said it, as if kindness still came as a bit of a shock to him.

“I don’t think it’s all that surprising, though,” Greg said. “After all, I’m not much like Sherlock.”

“And thank God for that,” Molly said, leaning in to kiss him.

Perhaps Greg had a point. Perhaps this meant Sherlock had a much better chance to move on and find happiness with Sanjay. If that was the case, she wanted to get to know Sanjay even more.

“I’m going to ask him to dance,” she said resolutely, already getting to her feet. Her shoes were killing her, but she could manage.

“And what am I meant to do while my wife is off interrogating other people’s boyfriends?”

“I’m not going to _interrogate_ him, just get to know him a little. And you can dance with Sherlock, he’ll have nothing to do either,” Molly said with a giggle.

Both Sherlock and Sanjay looked a little startled when Molly approached them. She supposed it wasn’t exactly common for the bride to ask a man she didn’t know to dance, especially when she hadn’t even danced with the best man and other “important” people.  But she didn’t care. She was a bit tipsy and it was her wedding day – when else was she supposed to do whatever she wanted?

Sherlock gave her a slightly threatening glare as he stepped aside to let Molly take his place. Molly grinned at him, undeterred.

“So to what do I owe this honour?” Sanjay asked as they started moving. He adapted smoothly to Molly’s skill level and led her in a way that made everything seem almost effortless.

“I think you can guess.”

“Is this where I get the ‘hurt him and you die’ talk, then?” Sanjay asked, a smile in his voice.

That startled a laugh out of her. “I’m not sure you’d find me threatening enough for that.”

“Wouldn’t I? Sherlock said you can be pretty fierce.” But before Molly could react to that astonishing statement, Sanjay continued. “But you don’t actually need to threaten me. Sherlock is the best thing that happened to me in years; I intend to treat him that way.”

Molly looked up at him. Anyone could make grand declarations, of course, but his face looked open and sincere (and rather handsome, too. Surely even a married woman was allowed to notice that much). Molly found she was inclined to believe him. Sherlock deserved to be the best thing in someone’s life, and Molly’s heart filled with warmth at the thought that he might actually get to have that.

“Good,” she said with a smile. “But in fact, I just wanted a dance. Sherlock says you’re the best dancer he’s ever met.”

Sanjay chuckled a little self-consciously. “He’s exaggerating. And he’s not any worse than me, don’t let him tell you otherwise. As I’m sure your husband will confirm,” he added with a smile, and Molly followed his gaze to see that Greg had actually done as she’d said and was now dancing (or attempting to) with a rather frustrated-looking Sherlock.

Greg caught her looking and gave her a silly grin and a thumbs up. Molly couldn’t help but laugh – all in all, this was a pretty good day.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of John, still sitting at the table with Mrs Hudson and Lara. He seemed to have forgotten about Sanjay and was now watching Sherlock and Greg instead, but now his expression was less angry and more… thoughtful.

The song had barely ended before Sherlock dragged Greg to Molly and Sanjay, an almost desperate look on his face.

“Molly, take your husband off my hands, I have no patience for this. He’s worse than John.”

“Oi!” It turned out they had stopped near John’s table. John had stood up, looking at Sherlock. “I can hear you, you know.”

“I said he was _worse_ than you, John, that means you’re better, no need to be offended,” Sherlock said in his ‘I am surrounded by idiots’ voice.

“Maybe I don’t want to be used as an example of a bad dancer that you measure others against.”

“Well, you’ve got to admit you skills leave a bit to be desired.”

And then John stood up straighter, looking up at Sherlock defiantly.

“Try me.”

The music had restarted, but a sudden hush seemed to fall around them. Molly and Greg exchanged confused looks. Sherlock blinked, then blinked some more.

“You… want to dance?” he asked.

John nodded firmly.

“With me?”

John shrugged. “I like a challenge.” The look on his face certainly seemed more appropriate for a fight than a dance.

Sherlock looked at Sanjay, and it seemed that he wasn’t asking for permission as much as simply searching for confirmation that it was really happening. Sanjay gave him a small smile.

“Fine,” Sherlock said, almost managing to sound nonchalant.

Without a exchanging a word, Molly and Greg decided that they were absolutely going to stay and pretend to dance while observing the situation, which was starting to feel charged. Mrs Hudson’s eyes were fixed on Sherlock and John, who had begun to dance rather stiltedly, and she was frowning slightly. Sanjay looked vaguely concerned. Only Lara seemed oblivious to the tension.

As it turned out, John wasn’t such a bad dancer, after all. His movements weren’t nearly as fluid as Sanjay’s, but he followed the rhythm rather well and didn’t seem to mess up the step. Perhaps he’d been practicing? He and Sherlock didn’t speak much, as far as Molly could tell, but alternated staring at each other and avoiding each other’s gaze. It seemed like there was an invisible balloon between their chests: the distance between them never changed, as if something would happen if they found themselves half an inch closer. Or was that just Molly’s overactive imagination?

Sanjay was now dancing with Lara. Molly saw him occasionally glance towards Sherlock and John, but he didn’t appear jealous or angry or hurt, or any other reaction that Molly would find normal given the palpable tension between his boyfriend and another man. He just looked slightly uncertain and… compassionate? That didn’t make any sense.

The music ended and Sherlock immediately stepped back from John, dropping his arms down his sides as if burned. John said something Molly couldn’t make out and laughed awkwardly. Sherlock gave a rather forced smile in response, swallowing visibly. It looked like they were both somewhat dissatisfied with the way the dance had gone.

“Well, what’s the verdict, Sherlock?” Lara asked as Sherlock and John came near her and Sanjay, a good two feet between them. “Can I dance with him without fearing for the fate of my shoes?”

Sherlock looked at her for a second as if he had forgotten about her existence.

“He’s… passable,” he said after a beat, clearing his throat. “I think your shoes will survive.”

Pleased with his answer, Lara dragged John back among the other dancers. Sanjay stepped closer to Sherlock, placing a tentative hand on his upper arm.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sherlock said, but he sounded a little… shaken. Sanjay stroked up and down his arm and led him to the edge of the dance floor. Molly could no longer hear what they were saying, but Sanjay had a very soft look in his eyes and it seemed almost like he was… comforting Sherlock. The somewhat pained expression lifted gradually from Sherlock’s face and he relaxed, leaning into Sanjay’s touch.

At one point, Sherlock shook his head vigorously and then cupped Sanjay’s face in both hands and looked at him with deep affection in his eyes, obvious even at a distance. Sanjay smiled at him and Sherlock smiled back, the thumbs of his large hands brushing Sanjay’s cheeks, and… they looked in love. Molly knew nothing about the inner workings of their relationship, and it was obvious from what Sherlock had said to her in the hospital cafeteria and what had just happened here that he still had feelings for John, so things obviously weren’t all clear and smooth, but... from an outsider’s perspective, they looked in love. Sherlock leaned down to kiss Sanjay, and Molly decided it was probably time for her to stop watching.

At that same moment, she became aware of some commotion nearer to the centre of the dance floor, and when she turned her head she saw Lara balancing on one foot, face twisted in pain, and John apologising both to her and to another couple they had apparently jostled. Then John’s eyes flew towards where Sherlock and Sanjay were kissing, and it was immediately clear to Molly that that was what had caused John to misstep. He _was_ jealous, she realised. There was simply no other reasonable interpretation. He had had countless girlfriends and got married and watched Sherlock repeatedly sacrifice himself for him and told anyone who would listen that he was not gay, and now, when Sherlock finally had a chance to be happy, John was _jealous._

For a split second Molly wasn’t sure if she should be only furious with him or also feel a little sorry for him, but then she decided she wasn’t going to be either. She wasn’t going to think about any of it. Not now. Not today. Today was _her_ day, _her_ happy ending. She wasn’t going to let an _utter idiot_ ruin it.

“Let’s eat some more cake and then get out of here,” she told Greg, lacing her fingers with his.

Behind them, Sherlock and Sanjay were still kissing.

 


	8. Chapter 8

_November 2018_

 

Sherlock’s body was a testament to his love for John Watson.

There was the small circular scar in the centre of his chest that John’s wife had put there, right over his heart (and wasn’t it a morbidly fitting place). Sanjay’s own heart had stopped when he first saw it, when he realised what it was and what it meant – how incredibly close to dying Sherlock must have come.

There were the scars on his back, a souvenir from the time when he was pretending to be dead and tortured in Serbia – Sanjay didn’t know much about it, but it was clear from what he did know that Sherlock had gone through all that to keep John safe. Sherlock had been a bit self-conscious about the scars, and it had taken a while for him to become comfortable with Sanjay looking at and touching his bare back. When Sherlock had first allowed it, it had felt like an incredible privilege and Sanjay had spent ages kissing every single inch of Sherlock’s skin, trying to erase pain with pleasure.

Then there were the old track marks on the inside of Sherlock’s elbows – not all of them were John’s fault, but some of them definitely were. Sherlock was self-conscious about those too, for different reasons, so Sanjay made sure to kiss him there as well, to show Sherlock that all of him was accepted and wanted, even the dark bits. Sherlock had assured him that he’d been clean for well over two years. Sanjay was proud of him for that, and hoped that Sherlock would never feel any need to resort to that sort of thing again.

These were the obvious ones, but there was also a small, pearl-white scar hidden in Sherlock’s left eyebrow. It was the first one Sanjay had discovered, and the only one Sherlock had refused to give any explanations for. Sanjay had asked about it in the early days of their relationship, long before he’d seen any of the scars that were usually hidden underneath Sherlock’s clothes. Sanjay had been tracing the lines of Sherlock’s face with his fingers, and so he asked, thinking he’d get to hear about a case, or perhaps a childhood mishap, but instead Sherlock had tensed in his arms, looked away and said, “It’s nothing.”

Sanjay hadn’t pushed, of course, and at first he hadn’t drawn any conclusions from it, but gradually a suspicion had begun to form in his mind, that this scar was one that John Watson had caused _directly._ It was just speculation, granted, but why else would Sherlock be so unwilling to tell him how it had happened? He’d told him about all the other scars without much hesitation even though it obviously made him uncomfortable and embarrassed. Sanjay couldn’t think of any other reason, and some remarks Mrs Hudson let slip about John’s quick temper only added to the suspicion.

He hadn’t meant to voice his suspicion and force Sherlock to talk about something he didn’t want to, but one day the question just slipped out. They were cuddled up on the sofa at Sanjay’s place, with both dogs napping at their feet, and they were enjoying a quiet afternoon together, but Sanjay found himself stroking over the small scar and his mouth opened before he could stop himself.

“Did John do this?”

Sherlock went rigid in his arms, and Sanjay immediately wanted to bite his tongue off. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, wincing at his own tactlessness. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“But not answering would be an answer in itself, wouldn’t it?” Sherlock said very quietly. He stayed silent for a moment, his head bowed. “It was under very extreme circumstances,” he said eventually, and it felt like and ice cold rock had suddenly appeared in Sanjay’s stomach.  It was true, then.

“I think John regretted it, and nothing like that has happened since,” Sherlock continued, avoiding Sanjay’s gaze. Sanjay almost spoke at that – did the fact that Sherlock _thought_ John regretted it meant that John had never even said so? But he forced himself to stay quiet. “And I’d rather if we didn’t talk about it anymore.”

“Of course,” Sanjay said immediately, kissing the top of Sherlock’s head. “I had no business asking.”

Sherlock looked at him then, his eyes soft and a little sad.

“I don’t mind you asking,” he said sincerely. “I just – I feel so good with you. I want to focus on this, _you_ , not… other things.”

It wasn’t the first time Sherlock had voiced this wish – he’d said something similar at the wedding they’d attended about a month ago, where Sanjay had also formed a not exactly positive opinion of John Watson, which was only cemented now. At the wedding, Sanjay had got the impression that John wasn’t as straight and uninterested in Sherlock as Sherlock believed, but it seemed that he was either unaware of it himself or in denial and unwilling to do anything about it. Sanjay had thought that the dance might lead to something (and he would be lying if he claimed the thought hadn’t hurt), but it hadn’t, and apparently John had told Sherlock during the dance that he had been practicing dancing so as not to embarrass his girlfriend. Sanjay had some doubts as to whether that had been his real reason, or only reason, but that was what he had told Sherlock, and it seemed like indication enough that he wasn’t going to act on any feelings he might have. Sherlock had been understandably rattled after the dance – who wouldn’t be, after getting to dance with the love of his life but then having it rubbed in that his love wasn’t wanted. It had seemed unnecessarily cruel to Sanjay – it still did – but Sherlock had interpreted it as a gesture that was meant to be nice (the mind boggled), as John’s way of saying that they were okay and things way back to normal, to the way they were before Sherlock had “ruined” things by expressing his feelings. Sanjay hadn’t thought disputing that opinion would be in any way helpful, so instead he had offered comfort and understanding to the best of his ability for as long as Sherlock wanted it. Which hadn’t been all that long – Sherlock had pulled himself together after a while and told Sanjay with shining eyes and a disarming earnestness that he was there to have a good time with Sanjay and wouldn’t let anything spoil it.

It was probably only natural, really, that Sherlock wanted to push all the painful things regarding John out of his mind as much as possible. As bad as the scars on Sherlock’s body were, Sanjay thought that the invisible ones on his soul and heart were possibly even worse. He couldn’t erase those any more than the physical marks, but he could try to help them heal. Cover violence with tenderness, hurt with affection.

He would respect Sherlock’s wishes, he wouldn’t make him talk about things that caused him unnecessary pain, but he _would_ do his best to make Sherlock understand without words that he deserved so much better than being hit by the man he loved. The need to make Sherlock feel cherished and protected and cared for was almost a physical ache.

He kissed the scar in Sherlock’s eyebrow, then his other eyebrow for good measure and pulled Sherlock against his chest, just holding him until Sherlock relaxed against him again. He found Sherlock’s lips then, kissing him softly, almost chastely – it was an offer, not a demand. If Sherlock only felt like cuddling, then that was what they would do. But Sherlock responded enthusiastically, his mouth opening eagerly under Sanjay’s, as if the memory of violence had made him crave loving touch as much as it made Sanjay want to give it.

Sherlock shifted, sitting up properly against the backrest and pulling Sanjay with him until Sanjay was straddling him (Sherlock liked the change in height difference, Sanjay had discovered, liked having to look _up_ at Sanjay, having to reach for his lips).

Sanjay buried his fingers in Sherlock’s silky curls, taking in Sherlock’s pink-kissed lips, the heat rising in his cheeks.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said, and as expected, the flush in Sherlock’s face deepened – he was wonderfully sensitive to praise.

“So are you,” said Sherlock, his voice a little croaky. He took Sanjay’s glasses off carefully, placing them on the window sill behind the sofa, then he stroked Sanjay’s face gently. “You’re beautiful, and…”

“And?” Sanjay prompted, turning his face into Sherlock’s palm to kiss his wrist, lick the soft thin skin over his pulse point.

“And the kindest person I know.”

Sanjay’s heart squeezed. He took Sherlock’s head in his hands, looking into those incredible, mesmerising eyes that other people apparently knew as cold and calculating but that were trusting and vulnerable now, for him.

“You deserve that, Sherlock,” Sanjay said, voice thick with emotion. “You deserve kindness and – and tenderness and care, and I want to give you that so much, you have no idea.”

Sherlock made a whimpering sound in his throat and surged up, reaching for Sanjay’s mouth and kissing him like he was drowning and Sanjay was air. His hands found their way under Sanjay’s t-shirt, pulling him closer, setting his skin on fire. Sanjay let his full weight rest on Sherlock and they both gasped when their groins came into contact. They rocked against each other as they kissed, and it felt divine.

“Bed?” Sanjay panted into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock deserved better than dry humping on the sofa – and besides, there was only so much Sanjay was comfortable doing in front of the dogs.

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed, voice husky with arousal in a way that almost made Sanjay dizzy.

It still felt a little odd, taking someone else to the bedroom he used to share with Chris, and Sherlock was always a little shyer when they were here, as if careful not to overstep a line, but it was getting better, easier. Sanjay _wanted_ Sherlock here, in every way. Sherlock’s crisp blue shirt fell on the carpet that Chris had chosen, and it was okay. It was right. Sherlock was exactly right for him.

“What do you want?” Sanjay asked as they resumed their earlier position on the bed, with Sherlock propped up against the headboard and Sanjay straddling him, only so much better now that they were naked.

“You,” Sherlock breathed, gripping Sanjay’s buttocks to pull his pelvis closer. “You.” Sherlock rarely voiced specific requests in sex, but their position and the way he spread Sanjay’s cheeks apart made his wishes rather clear, and Sanjay’s level of arousal rose sharply at the prospect of having Sherlock inside him. They had only done it this way once and Sherlock had come within about a minute, after which he’d been reluctant to try again, clearly embarrassed. Sanjay hadn’t pushed, happy to do whatever Sherlock felt more comfortable with. It seemed now that his patience had paid off.

Sanjay found a bottle of lube and handed it to Sherlock, who started massaging at Sanjay’s opening with careful, gentle fingers, his body thrumming with anticipation and his (incredibly lovely) cock hard and leaking in Sanjay’s hand. They moaned in unison as Sanjay sank down on him slowly, revelling in the feeling of being stretched and filled.

“Sanjay, oh, _oh_ , Sanjay,” Sherlock gasped shakily, his eyes wide with wonder as if he found it hard to believe he was allowed to do this.

“Yes, my darling,” Sanjay said as he seated himself fully, accepting Sherlock’s hard length deep inside his body.  Pet names were still new for them, something they were only just trying out and testing, but given the way Sherlock twitched within him, the way his fingers dug into Sanjay’s hips and the whine that tore itself from his lips, Sanjay felt reasonably certain it was something could work for them.

They just breathed together for a while, kissing and caressing as their bodies adjusted to the intensity of being joined in this way.

“You feel amazing inside me,” Sanjay murmured into Sherlock’s ear as he began moving slowly. “So good.” Sherlock only moaned Sanjay’s name in response and clutched Sanjay tighter, his hips rocking minutely to meet Sanjay’s downward movements. Sanjay braced himself against Sherlock’s shoulders and they found a steady rhythm, sparks bursting deep inside Sanjay every time he pushed down onto Sherlock’s cock. It was clear that Sherlock wasn’t going to last long, Sanjay could tell from the flush of his skin and the increasingly loud noises he was making that his orgasm was fast approaching, and he was biting down on his lower lip to hold himself back.

Sanjay slipped his thumb between Sherlock’s lips and gently pried his lower lip from between his teeth. He didn’t want Sherlock to hurt himself.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, his head close enough to Sherlock’s to feel Sherlock’s ragged breathing on his face. “Just let go. I want to feel you come. Come inside me.” He squeezed his muscles around Sherlock to make his point, pushing down harder.

Sherlock cried out, his hips snapping up in a few uncoordinated thrusts and then he was coming, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut, spending himself inside Sanjay in several hot spurts. He looked absolutely breath-taking.

“That was beautiful, Sherlock,” Sanjay whispered as Sherlock sagged in his arms, gasping for breath. “So beautiful.”

He was painfully hard now – there was nothing more erotic than watching and _feeling_ Sherlock orgasm – but he didn’t mind waiting for Sherlock to come down. Sherlock’s hand would feel so much better that trying to get off by himself.

“Now you,” Sherlock rasped as soon as he was able to form words, and Sanjay sighed in exquisite relief when Sherlock’s large hand encircled him.

“Sherlock,” he exhaled before Sherlock kissed him, then moved his mouth to Sanjay’s jaw and ear and neck, all the while maintaining perfect firm strokes on Sanjay’s cock, just the way Sanjay liked it. Finally he latched onto Sanjay’s left nipple, sucking the sensitive nub into his mouth just as the movements of his hand sped up and Sanjay came hard, shuddering and spilling all over Sherlock’s hand and belly.

As the aftershocks died down Sanjay became aware of Sherlock pulling him into a hug, stoking his hair and pressing a tender kiss to his temple. Sanjay felt his lips stretch into a sated smile – Sherlock never said much during sex or afterwards, but he always found a way to let Sanjay know how he felt anyway.

They used Sanjay’s vest for a cursory clean-up, anything more thorough would have to wait – Sherlock was a cuddler in general, but even more so after sex, and nothing in the world could possibly induce Sanjay to ruin the afterglow by leaving the bed. They settled to lie in a loose embrace. Sherlock laced their fingers together and brought their joined hands to his lips, kissing each of Sanjay’s knuckles, and Sanjay felt a comfortable warmth spread through him. Sherlock looked as content as Sanjay felt, and that was all Sanjay could hope for – to make Sherlock forget the pain of his past, to make him happy. It was the least he could do, after all, to thank Sherlock for filling the emptiness in Sanjay’s life left by Chris’s death.

Then, of course, Sherlock’s phone chimed somewhere in the pile of discarded clothing on the floor.

“I really hope no one died in an interesting way to take you away from me right now,” Sanjay nuzzling against Sherlock’s shoulder.

Sherlock squeezed his hand. “I’m not leaving here for anything less than a nine until after I’ve made you breakfast tomorrow,” he told him seriously, then smirked. “Nine and a half if you don’t put your shirt back on.”

Sanjay giggled and reached for Sherlock’s mouth, and they kissed lazily for a while before Sherlock extricated himself with reluctance to get out of bed. He bent down unselfconsciously to look for his phone and Sanjay took the opportunity to admire his plush arse and then the pale length of his body as he stood up to read the text. The scars didn’t make him any less knee-meltingly beautiful.

“What is it?” Sanjay asked when Sherlock frowned at the screen.

“It’s John,” Sherlock said, glancing at Sanjay from beneath his eyelashes. “Asking if I can babysit tonight.” He bit his lip. “I’ll tell him no.”

Sanjay hesitated for a second. He’d been looking forward to having Sherlock for himself, certainly, but he knew Sherlock loved Rosie like his own and valued every opportunity to spend time with her. He wouldn’t like to deprive him of that.

“Tell him to bring her here.”

Sherlock’s head snapped up. “What?”

Sanjay shrugged. “That would work, wouldn’t it? Unless she’d be afraid of me, or the dogs.”

Sherlock shook his head, looking utterly stunned. “No, she… she’s a bit shy around strangers these days but she’ll be fine if I’m there, and she loves animals. But you… wouldn’t mind?”

“No.” Sanjay patted the bed next to him, motioning for Sherlock to sit back down. He stroked Sherlock’s arm. “I know how much you love her, I’m not going to stop you from spending time with her. Besides, I bet you’re adorable with her.”

“I am _not_.”

“Hmm, I’m pretty sure you are. You’re adorable even just talking about her. I think I’ll just watch you play with her and try not to melt from the cute overload.”

“Shut up,” Sherlock said, but he was smiling. He leaned in to press a kiss to Sanjay’s lips, cupping his cheek. “You’re amazing. Thank you. It really – it means a lot to me.”

“I know,” Sanjay said. He loved making Sherlock smile, and hoped fervently that he’d be able to continue doing so for a very, very long time. He knew John could take Sherlock away from him at any moment (even though he really didn’t deserve him, in Sanjay’s opinion), and Sanjay would never stand in the way of Sherlock’s happiness. But he refused to waste time thinking about that – right now, right here, _he_ was the one making Sherlock happy, and he intended to make the most of it.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

_January 2019_

Sherlock was turning forty, and John felt that it deserved a little celebration. Nothing huge, Sherlock wouldn’t appreciate that, just a small gathering of his closest friends over birthday cake. He would ask Sherlock to join him and Rosie for a little wintry outing and then bring him home where everyone else would be waiting. Everyone else being Mrs Hudson, Greg, Molly, Lara… and Sanjay.

John wasn’t exactly thrilled about Sanjay’s presence, but he couldn’t very well exclude Sherlock’s boyfriend from Sherlock’s birthday party. But since he was going to be there, John hoped it would at least give him an opportunity to… talk to him.

Because that was something John had to do. As it had turned out, John’s initial distrust of Sanjay hadn’t been unwarranted: the jerk was _married_. John had noticed at Greg and Molly’s wedding that there was a discoloured, indented line on Sanjay’s left ring finger. John had been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt – perhaps Sanjay had divorced only recently, John knew the ring indentation could take a while to disappear. But it had been almost four months since the wedding, more than _half a year_ since Sherlock and Sanjay had started dating, and the mark was still there and showed no signs of disappearing (John hadn’t seen Sanjay often in those four months, but when he had seen him he had made sure to check). Which meant that Sanjay still wore his wedding ring, just put it back on as soon as he was done fucking Sherlock as if nothing was happening. He wasn’t divorced and was just stringing Sherlock along, and Sherlock was too smitten and too naïve in this area to do anything about it.

John had tried to discuss it with Sherlock a couple of times, but Sherlock was very reluctant to talk about Sanjay with him and always changed the subject quickly, and John felt too wrong–footed speaking about Sherlock’s love life to push it. He hadn’t been able to confront Sanjay about it – after the wedding, he’d only ever seen him briefly a couple of times when one of them had been leaving 221B and the other arriving. (Once, John had needed a babysitter and Sherlock had suggested that he bring Rosie to Sanjay’s place, which could have been an opportunity to talk to Sanjay, but John had refused. He had said that it was because of the distance – Sanjay lived in Watford, which _wa_ s really out of the way for John – but the real reason had been that the place was clearly either a love nest, or Sanjay was happy to fuck Sherlock in his marital bed whenever his spouse was away. In either case, it wasn’t an environment where John wanted his daughter to spend even just a minute.) But today John would find an opportunity at the party. Sherlock would be distracted, there should be a moment when John could corner Sanjay and give him a piece of his mind. Either Sanjay would file for divorce immediately, or he would fuck off and let Sherlock be happy with… someone else. John felt confident he could be intimidating enough on his own – Sanjay looked like he’d never thrown a punch in his life – but if all else failed, John wasn’t above asking Mycroft for help. He wouldn’t let some cheating arsehole toy with Sherlock’s feelings.

Everything went according to plan – he and Sherlock took Rosie to Regent’s Park, making the most of London’s smattering of snow, and Sherlock didn’t seem to have any idea that there was an ulterior plan. When they returned back in and Sherlock opened the door to his flat, everyone was waiting around a huge chocolate cake.

“Happy birthday!” they all shouted, and Sherlock seemed to freeze to the spot in stunned silence. He looked at John in confusion, then Sanjay, then everyone else.

“What is this?” he asked in a small voice, even though it was obvious what it was and Sherlock hated it when people asked obvious questions – he had to be really shocked. John wondered if anyone had ever bothered to celebrate Sherlock’s birthday as an adult – probably not.

“Cake!” Rosie exclaimed as if to answer Sherlock’s question, and John barely managed to catch her before she hurled herself at it.

“Whoa, young lady. That’s Sherlock’s cake, isn’t it? You need to let him blow out the candles and then wait for him to give you a piece.”

Sherlock blinked at them for a moment as if he couldn’t understand what was happening, then seemed to pull himself together.

“Rosie,” he said, then cleared his throat when his voice came out slightly croaky. “Would you like to help me blow out the candles? I don’t know if I can manage on my own.”

“Yes!” Rosie agreed enthusiastically, then looked at the cake thoughtfully. “You’re really old,” she said seriously, taking in the number of candles – there were only about fifteen, but of course she wasn’t able to tell. “You need help.”

“Yeah,” Sherlock laughed, and he appeared to be actually blinking back tears. He crouched down next to Rosie and John barely had enough time to pull out his phone and capture a lovely shot of Sherlock and Rosie blowing out candles, Rosie focused and serious, Sherlock teary-eyed.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said as he straightened up, wiping at his eyes surreptitiously. “Thank you, I… I can’t believe you managed to keep it a secret from me.”

“That’s the old age, mate,” said Greg, clapping Sherlock on the back. “It gets us all in the end.”

There was cake and then presents. John (and Lara, technically, but really just John) gave Sherlock new leather gloves and a soft blue–green scarf that matched his eyes. Greg and Molly brought a bottle of wine and a box that Molly told Sherlock emphatically not to open in front of Rosie and to put it in the fridge, so John preferred not to know what was in it. Mrs Hudson gave him a knitted afghan that _looked_ like something Sherlock should abhor but John was sure he would actually love to wrap himself up in it. Sanjay gave him nothing.

“I hope you won’t mind if I give you my present a bit later,” he said, and John forced himself not roll his eyes. He’d probably not even managed to get Sherlock a proper present and didn’t want to lose face in front of others.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Sanjay, then smiled a knowing smile. “I’ll look forward to it,” he said and leaned in to press a quick peck to Sanjay’s lips. “Thank you.”

“Happy birthday, darling,” Sanjay said in a low, intimate voice, and Sherlock’s cheeks reddened, his eyelashes fluttering. John had to look away.

Sherlock’s favourite present by a long shot, however, was the one from Rosie – a drawing of a large black-haired figure (well, a head with arms and legs springing straight out of it) and a smaller yellow-haired figure holding what looked like balloons but what Rosie had explained to him were actually magnifying glasses, while a grey-haired figure stood a little apart in front of a blue box – that was meant to be John with his laptop, writing about the case that Sherlock and Rosie were investigating. Sherlock was absolutely charmed by it, and John felt a wave of warmth swell inside him as he watched them – seeing Sherlock and Rosie together often inspired such feelings in him.

The feeling soured somewhat, however, when he saw Sanjay watching with a soft expression that had to be similar to the one John was wearing, only Sanjay didn’t seem to see Rosie at all – he only had eyes for Sherlock. John’s resolve to _talk_ to him increased exponentially.

An opportunity presented itself soon after – Sherlock took out his violin and started playing lively tunes for Rosie to dance to and everyone was listening and watching and talking, so when Sanjay excused himself to go to the bathroom, John took the opportunity to sneak out and wait for him in the hallway leading to Sherlock’s bedroom.

Sanjay looked a little startled when he exited the bathroom and saw John just standing there, but he said nothing, only gave John the polite smile people gave someone they had absolutely nothing to say to.

“Wait,” John said before Sanjay could walk past him. His voice was low, but the threat in it was obvious even to his own ears.

“Yes?” Sanjay asked, frowning slightly, and John was pleased to note that he was getting nervous. _Good_.

John went straight to the point. “I know you’re married,” he said, piercing Sanjay with his gaze.

Sanjay’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?” he said, and he had the gall to look taken aback.

“You heard me. It’s perfectly obvious that you wear a wedding ring whenever you’re not with Sherlock.”

Sanjay looked down at his left hand briefly and then back up at John, and this time there was something slightly defiant in his eyes.

“And you think, what? That _you_ noticed that but _Sherlock_ hasn’t?”

John felt his rage grow.

“The fact that he knows doesn’t make it any better!” he hissed, pointing his finger at Sanjay. It was hard keeping his voice low enough for the others not to hear. “I know you’ve probably fed him some nice stories about how you’re gonna get divorced, but let me make it very clear that I will _not_ let you treat Sherlock like–”

“My husband is dead,” Sanjay interrupted him. His voice was slightly shaky but his tone was icy and the effect of his words equally so: John felt like wind had been knocked out of him. A widower. Sanjay was a widower, and John had just accused him of cheating on his husband. He opened his mouth to apologise, but before he could manage to say something, Sanjay spoke again.

“And just in case it’s something you actually care about, let me assure you that I would _never_ hurt Sherlock, not for anything. I only wish the same could be said about everyone in this room.”

“What the…” _hell is that supposed to mean,_ John meant to ask, but Sanjay tuned on his heel and walked back to the living room, not sparing John one more glance.

John felt like the ground beneath his feet has shifted. He’d been wrong about one thing – Sanjay wasn’t married and using Sherlock – but _everything_ suddenly seemed completely different, all that he had ever thought or felt about Sherlock’s relationship took a different, clearer shape, as though a fog had lifted. He’d been clinging to that idea, that Sanjay was secretly a jerk, so that he wouldn’t have to see what was right in front of his eyes: that Sanjay was good to Sherlock and Sherlock was happy with him, and there was absolutely no reason for John to have a problem with him, unless… unless...

He leaned against the wall, breathing sharply through his nose – it suddenly seemed like his knees could give under him at any moment. It took him a while to realise that the music in the living room had stopped.

“Sorry to interrupt, everyone,” Greg was saying, “but Molly and I have something we’d like to share… Where’s John? John!”

Taking a deep breath, John plastered a smile on his face and returned to the living room, hoping that nothing of what he felt showed on his face.

“Right here,” John said when he came back, and his eyes immediately went to Sherlock and Sanjay. Sherlock was sitting in his customary chair, which had been turned to face the sofa, and Sanjay was perched on the arm of the chair. Sanjay’s hand was resting on Sherlock’s shoulder, his thumb drawing small circles over his shirt. Sherlock was leaning into the touch, probably unaware he was doing it, his whole body turned slightly towards Sanjay. John could see nothing of their earlier altercation on Sanjay’s face, as if Sherlock’s proximity had melted it all away.

John felt cold.

“Sherlock, we’re sorry to steal your thunder,” Molly said, beaming at everyone, “but we’re so excited to finally be able to tell everyone, and since you’re all here...well, we’re going to have a baby!”

Everyone exploded in a flurry of excitement and congratulations, aside from Sherlock, who looked around in confusion.

“Is that supposed to be the news? Haven’t you all known for weeks? God, just when my opinion of your intelligence was beginning to improve!”

Sanjay looked down at him with a chuckle.

“I’m sorry we’re all such a terrible disappointment to you.”

Sherlock put his hand on Sanjay’s thigh and stroked up and down a few times.

“You could never be a disappointment,” he said, in a tone that indicated he was voicing an obvious and generally accepted truth. Sanjay smiled at him like Sherlock was the best thing he’d ever seen and bent his head to kiss him softly on the lips.

John couldn’t bear it anymore. He congratulated Greg and Molly as quickly as he could without coming across as rude and then left the room at the first opportunity. Without thinking, his legs took him up the stairs, to the bedroom that used to be his.

His furniture (well, the furniture that had been there in his days) was still there, but overlaid with an assortment of things intended to make it comfortable for a little girl. The bed had been pushed to the wall to make room for a cot originally, and now for an extendable child’s bed with colourful bedding. There were a few picture books on the shelf, a box of toys under the desk, a nightlight in the shape of a bee sitting on the bedside table, waiting to be plugged in. Rosie didn’t spend that much time here, overall, but it was clear that she had everything here she could possibly want or need.

How different would things be now if John had never moved out of this bedroom? Well, no – moving out had been an absolute necessity, but if he had returned? Stayed here after Mary had shot Sherlock, or come back after her death? Would this be a fully-fledged kid’s bedroom now, where Rosie would sleep every night, with Sherlock caring for her and giving her all the love he obviously felt for her at any time and not just when John let him?

Would John sleep in the room just under, in the bed that would no longer be Sherlock’s, but theirs, shared? Would it be John whose touch Sherlock leaned into without thinking?

How could John have been so stupid, so blind? Sherlock had loved him, had loved him for years with a devotion that others couldn’t even imagine, but John had rejected him over and over again, hurt him both emotionally and physically because he couldn’t face his own feelings… and now it was too late.

“John?”

John turned abruptly to find Sherlock standing in the doorway, his eyebrows drawn together.

“Are you all right?” he asked, stepping inside haltingly.

“Yeah, fine,” John said, forcing himself to smile. “Sorry, I’m just – getting a bit nostalgic, I guess.”

Sherlock looked at him the way only he could, searching for clues, and John hoped to God he didn’t look as close to crying as he felt.

“Nostalgic?”

“Yeah, you know,” John waved his hand, looking away. “Your birthday, Molly and Greg having a baby… time passes so quickly. So many changes.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said slowly, but he seemed to take John’s explanation at face value. “Not all of them are for the worse, though” he added, looking at Rosie’s bed.

“No,” John agreed, and then, because he had to, he asked, “And you – are you happy?”

Sherlock considered this for a moment, then smiled softly. “Yes, I think I am,” he said, and it sounded like it almost surprised him a little. “I suppose you were right in a way, after all.”

“I was right? About what?”

“You told me once that a romantic entanglement would complete me as a human being.”

John almost flinched at the memory – Sherlock sad and bruised and hurting after he had (once again) risked his life for John, and John essentially calling him inhuman.

“That was an incredibly insensitive and idiotic thing to say.”

Sherlock inclined his head to the side. “Maybe. But the truth is that I lacked something then that I have now, and I’m happier for it.”

Was this how Sherlock had felt, John wondered, when he had to watch John get married – the terrible, crushing weight settling over his heart?

“Good – that’s good,” he said. He patted Sherlock’s shoulder, wishing he could hug him instead, but he didn’t think there was a way to make that not seem suspiciously out of character – in almost nine years of knowing each other, they had only hugged twice. No wonder Sherlock had had to look for love elsewhere, when John had been too much of a coward even for friendly displays of affection.

He forced himself to smile. If Sherlock was happy, then that was all that mattered.  John needed to do better by him from now on – try at least to be the friend that Sherlock deserved, since he had completely blown the opportunity to be anything more.

And if that meant watching Sherlock be in love with Sanjay and being supportive of their relationship, then that was what he would do.


	10. Chapter 10

_March 2019_

Sherlock woke up alone, slightly disoriented. He was in his bed, but the light was wrong (it had to be late afternoon) and his body felt wrung out – but pleasantly so. He breathed in, smelling sweat and semen and Sanjay, and he remembered. He buried his face in the pillow, feeling his face heat at the memory of what had been _fantastic_ sex. Sanjay had made him come twice in fairly quick succession, working his tongue skilfully inside Sherlock’s body until Sherlock was all but sobbing for release. Sherlock had been somewhat reluctant to try this particular act, and thinking about where Sanjay had been not only willing but eager to put his mouth still made him rather self-conscious, but he had to admit it had felt amazing. He stretched languidly, noting that the other side of bed was long cold. That was simply unacceptable.

He stumbled out of bed – his legs felt rather weak – and put on a dressing gown. He found Sanjay in the kitchen, chopping a bell pepper and wearing Sherlock’s burgundy dressing gown, which looked amazing on him (though Sherlock tended to have an unreasonably positive reaction to Sanjay wearing his clothes).

“Hello, Sleeping Beauty,” Sanjay said, smiling at him. Sherlock could positively feel the self-satisfaction radiating off him. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Sherlock said and stepped closer to Sanjay, hugging him from behind. He had fallen asleep before he could get his post-sex cuddle, and that had to be remedied immediately. “No need to sound so smug.”

“Oh, but there’s every need!” Sanjay said with a smile that could be heard in his voice, leaning into Sherlock’s arms. “I made the great Sherlock Holmes pass out from pleasure, that’s plenty to be smug about.”

“I didn’t _pass out_ ,” Sherlock protested, but it didn’t sound very convincing as he was busy nuzzling Sanjay’s neck. Sanjay had taken a shower using Sherlock’s shampoo and that, combined with his own particular scent, made him smell simply divine.

“I’m sorry, but you absolutely did. You were coming for _ages_ , and then you just collapsed and fell asleep immediately. I thought I’d broken you.”

“That sounds incredibly unlikely. Not even I would be so rude.”

Sanjay laughed and let go of the knife and chopping board, turning in Sherlock’s arms to face him. The look in his eyes was amused and incredibly fond. It was utterly impossible for Sherlock not to grin broadly at him.

“Well, you did manage to say ‘Sanjay is a sex god’ just before you passed out, so I didn’t get too offended,” Sanjay teased, placing his hands on Sherlock’s pectorals and stroking slowly.

“Why would I speak about you in the third person if you were right there?”

“Okay, I admit it: I’m not sure what you said, you were having trouble articulating. But the meaning was heavily implied.”

“I suppose that’s true. You were rather good,” Sherlock said, trying not to blush at the memory.

Sanjay raised an eyebrow. “Just good?”

“Fine: spectacular.  Now stop gloating.”

“Make me.”

Sherlock didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned in, kissing Sanjay’s lips, tasting the mouth that had brought to ecstasy. He loved kissing Sanjay, loved the way it made the rest of the world disappear, the way Sanjay’s mouth fit perfectly against his, the small sounds that Sanjay made and Sherlock swallowed.

“I’m making omelettes,” Sanjay said when they broke apart, lingering in each other’s space. “Sound good?”

“Anything you make will be delicious,” Sherlock said. “Although eggs are breakfast food. And I’ve gained seven pounds since we’ve been together, so you really should stop feeding me up. It slows my brain down.” It was ridiculous, really. Sherlock used to be so in control of his transport, but now he wanted to savour both Sanjay’s food and his body and there was nothing he could do about it.

“You just love to be contrary, don’t you?” Sanjay chuckled and swatted Sherlock playfully, but Sherlock caught his hand and brought it to his lips. Sanjay’s hands were lovely, slim and elegant with long fingers and—

“You’ve stopped wearing your ring,” Sherlock said before the deduction had even fully formed in his mind. Why hadn’t he noticed before? Sanjay preferred not to wear his wedding band when he was with Sherlock, but Sherlock knew he still wore it at other times – or at least, that was how it had used to be. Now, the indentation on Sanjay’s left ring finger was definitely less pronounced than it used to be – not visibly so, perhaps, but the change was clearly apparent to the touch. Sanjay must not have put the ring back on for several weeks, perhaps months.

“Oh,” Sanjay said as if he had almost forgotten about it, “yeah.”

“Why?” Sherlock blurted before he could stop himself. His heart was suddenly beating rather hard. Why was it beating so hard?

Sanjay looked at his hand where Sherlock still held it between them. The playfulness was gone, replaced by a serious stillness.

“I just… I realised that the way I kept taking it off to be with you made it look like we’re having an affair. Which we aren’t.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Someone told you that,” he said. “Someone assumed you were having an affair, that’s what made you think of it.” That wasn’t right. The ring was important to Sanjay, no one had any business making him feel guilty about wearing it.

“Yes, but that’s beside the point. It’s true.” Sanjay looked up at Sherlock, calm and determined. “You’re much too important a part of my life now for me to… keep making a distinction between times when I am with you and when I’m not. It stopped making sense long ago.”

“You could just keep it on all the time. I told you I wouldn’t mind.”

Sanjay shook his head. “That wouldn’t be right, being with you while wearing somebody else ring. I don’t want anyone to have reason to doubt that I’m… fully committed to you.”

Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat. He had known that, technically, but to hear it said, and to know that Sanjay would willingly abandon – _had_ abandoned – a symbol of his marriage to Chris in favour of his relationship with Sherlock… that was almost too much to bear.

“Sherlock? You with me?”

Sherlock blinked a few times, focusing on Sanjay’s concerned face.

“But… you’re sure?” he asked. “You’re not just doing it because you’re worried what people would think?” People were idiots and could thin and say whatever nonsense they wanted, as far as Sherlock was concerned. What mattered was that Sanjay was comfortable.

Sanjay nodded firmly. “I’m sure. It’ll be five years since Chris died in less than two weeks; I think it’s time.” He lifted his hand to his chest, pulling the gold chain he wore around his neck from the vee of the dressing gown. “I’ll always keep the rings here. That’s enough.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure what to say. He was feeling slightly overwhelmed and he couldn’t even begin to untangle his emotions. This gesture felt… momentous. How had he got so lucky? A year ago he had been lonely and miserable, and now? He had an amazing boyfriend who was _committed_ to him.

He pulled Sanjay into a proper hug, pressing him close to his chest. Sanjay’s hand came up to his back, holding him just as tight. Sherlock felt that it would be a while before he was ready to let go.

“I am, too,” he said in a low voice, his lips moving against the shell of Sanjay’s ear. “Committed to you,” he added, in case it wasn’t clear.

He felt Sanjay breathe in sharply and then he was being squeezed even tighter than before. It was difficult to get in full breath like this, but Sherlock didn’t care – hearing that said was clearly just as significant for Sanjay as it was for Sherlock. He pressed a kiss to Sanjay’s temple, and held on.

After a while, when the excess of emotion abated slightly and Sherlock’s brain finally started doing something besides releasing oxytocin and storing the moment for posterity, something clicked.

“It was John, wasn’t it?” Sherlock asked. “On my birthday. You were both gone for a while at the same time, and you were both acting strange afterwards.” The thought made him angry – John had no business meddling in Sherlock’s relationship with Sanjay. Although, to be fair, Sherlock had asked Mycroft to perform an extremely thorough background check on Lara without consulting John first, so perhaps they were even.

“Yeah,” Sanjay said. “He apologised, though, so it’s fine.”

“He did?” Sherlock asked, and he hated how surprised he sounded, as if John never apologised.

“Hmm. He came to my office hours a few days afterwards, which was _incredibly awkward_ , but he seemed very sincere.”

Sherlock didn’t have to ask why Sanjay hadn’t told him sooner – he could imagine that John wasn’t exactly Sanjay’s preferred topic of conversation. And all this explained why John had become much more… accepting of Sanjay in recent weeks. What it _didn’t_ explain was John’s “nostalgia” when Sherlock had found him in his old bedroom, but perhaps that was unrelated. Sentiment – so annoying and difficult to deduce.

He forced thoughts of John out of his mind – this was his and Sanjay’s moment. He bent his head to kiss Sanjay again, claiming his perfect mouth. He pressed Sanjay against the counter and fumbled with his dressing gown until he managed to find its edge and push his hand underneath it, suddenly desperate to feel Sanjay’s naked skin, to get as close as possible.

“I was going to take a shower, but now I feel it would be rather counterproductive,” he said, trailing kisses down the side of Sanjay’s throat.

“Are you sure you’re up for that?” Sanjay asked, even as he bent his head to the side to give Sherlock better access to his neck.

Sherlock rocked his hips forward to make it very clear that he was _up for this_ in more ways than one.

“I intend to even the score,” he said resolutely, dropping his voice to its lowest register. “If you’d rather continue cooking, you should probably say so now.”

Sanjay said nothing, and Sherlock fell to his knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My tumblr](https://missselenewrites.tumblr.com/)


	11. Chapter 11

_October 2019_

John didn’t understand how he could ever have thought that Sherlock didn’t “feel things that way”, that a relationship would somehow be beyond the scope of his emotional abilities. It was evident now that Sherlock was not only capable of being in a relationship, but was actually rather good at it – of course he was, he was Sherlock Holmes, who never did anything by halves. Before John had his little epiphany on Sherlock’s birthday, he had tried to push all awareness of Sherlock and Sanjay’s relationship out of his mind as much as he could, but that was no longer possible: it was as if there was a spotlight shining on every little thing Sherlock did that was vaguely related to Sanjay, and it was impossible for John not to notice it.

There was, for instance, the small private smile Sherlock had whenever he was texting Sanjay. Once, John found an empty condom wrapper under the sofa. Another time, he came to 221B to work on a case with Sherlock and found him poring over the case file and stuffing his face with kheer.

“What happened to not eating during a case?” John asked, and Sherlock just shrugged.

“Sanjay made it,” he said, as if that explained everything.

During another case, they were following a trail of clues when Sherlock suddenly darted into a flower shop. John thought he had spotted their suspect, or something like that, but no, Sherlock had just decided that he wanted to buy Sanjay roses.

Seeing them together was even worse. It didn’t happen very frequently, but since John had realised he should probably behave more like a friend and less like a jealous arsehole, it became more common. John stopped inventing reasons why Sherlock couldn’t babysit with Sanjay, so once when John came home late at night he found

 Rosie safe in her bed and Sherlock and Sanjay on the sofa, Sanjay watching TV with very low volume and Sherlock lying with his head in Sanjay’s lap, fast asleep. When Sanjay shook him gently to wake him up Sherlock groaned in displeasure and buried his face in Sanjay’s stomach before looking up at him with a sleepy smile, and it was impossible not to see how much Sherlock liked being where he was.

They were small things, mostly, little tells that showed how comfortable they were with each other, that hinted at the depth of the affection between them. It felt like they were rubbing it in, parading their happiness in front of John to show him what he could have had if he’d been less of an idiot. Only they weren’t, of course, it was just John who saw small, casual displays of affection as personal attacks on him – seeing the love that could have been his directed at someone else felt like a knife to the heart, but it was his own fault, so he simply had to grit his teeth and bear it.

At that time, John started stopping for a pint after work at a place that was perhaps not a full-blown gay bar but it was definitely not a straight bar either. He wasn’t sure what made him go there, but he went, and he sat alone in a booth and watched men flirt with men, kiss and touch and grope each other like it was easy and normal and didn’t require any special kind of courage. If he had gone to such a place twenty, fifteen, ten years ago, would it have made a difference? Would he have been able to recognise and accept that he sometimes wanted to do these things with men too? Would he have understood his feelings for Sherlock sooner, been able to give Sherlock what he needed and deserved?

The beer held no answer, and it was pointless to wonder about these things anyway. It was what it was.

Then one day as John sipped his pint in his customary booth, he noticed man sitting at the bar, scrolling down his phone, and John’s breath caught. The man – boy, really, he couldn’t be more than twenty-five – was tall and lanky with a shock of dark curly hair, and the similarity to Sherlock was undeniable. He was gorgeous: long-lashed eyes traced with eyeliner, full pink lips, long neck, a close-fitting white shirt and even tighter jeans that clung to muscled thighs and a perfect arse. John’s eyes followed the length of his body down and back up, and when he reached his face he found the boy looking back at him, a knowing smirk on his face.

John turned away, flushing at being caught ogling a boy young enough to be his son. He took a long gulp of his beer to soothe his suddenly parched throat, but he couldn’t resist glancing back: the boy was still looking at him, rather intently. He held John’s gaze with an unabashed openness while sucking on the straw in his cocktail in a rather suggestive manner.

John gulped. What could someone so young and attractive see in a grumpy middle aged man frowning at the world? But the young man clearly saw _something_ , he never took his eyes off John as he finished his drink and licked his lips slowly.

John could buy him a drink, couldn’t he? What would be the harm in that? He knew how to flirt with people at bars, he’d done it plenty of times – with women, yes, but how different could it be? If the young man fancied him, why _shouldn’t_ John make use of it?

As he gathered his resolve to get up and go to the bar, the youth slid off the barstool gracefully, his eyes on John, then turned and walked towards the bathrooms, his hips swaying. He glanced briefly over his shoulder at John and winked, the invitation clear.

John felt blood rush to his groin. He could already imagine the plush lips wrapped around his cock, the curly head bobbing between his legs. He downed the rest of his beer and got to his feet to follow, and he was halfway to the bathroom before he realised what he was doing. A wave of embarrassment washed over him and he turned on his heel and walked out to the street instead.

What exactly did he think he would achieve by fucking a Sherlock lookalike in a toilet cubicle? Nothing, that was what, aside from a guilty conscience and feeling like shit. He had a _girlfriend,_ for god’s sake. Lara didn’t deserve wasting her time on someone who would pick up strangers in bars without a second thought – or someone who spent his time imagining what kind of relationship he could have had with his best friend if he had managed to pull his head out of his arse sooner. He couldn’t keep doing this. He had to pull his life back together and start treating the most important people in it right.

On his way home, he stopped at the first jeweller’s he came across and bought an engagement ring.

***

_November 2019_

When John and Lara announced they would be getting married in less than a month, it came as a surprise, especially given how fast they decided to go about it (only the required 28 days between giving notice and the wedding), but what surprised Sherlock more was how the news made him feel: there was no pain.

Compared to the agony of John’s wedding to Mary, the difference was staggering. A lot of things were different, of course: then, he’d been desperately trying to atone for the grief he’d caused John and was ready to do anything to ensure John’s continued friendship, and he had thrown himself into the wedding preparations because it had seemed like the only way to remain a part of John’s life. This time, there were no preparations to speak of: there would be only a simple civil ceremony at the registry office followed by an early dinner at a small restaurant with only the closest friends and family in attendance, less than ten guests in total. And while Sherlock was John’s best man again, this time his duties extended only to signing the marriage certificate – John wanted no stag do and no speech (Sherlock tired not to take that as a criticism of his previous performance). The simplicity made it easier, of course, but Sherlock knew that the real reason was elsewhere.

Sherlock had been with Sanjay for a year and five months, and over the course of that time, without Sherlock noticing, loving John had stopped hurting. Sanjay’s affection and tenderness had soothed the pain like a healing salve, until nothing remained. It was now just a simple fact of life, and Sherlock could enjoy John’s company without wishing it were something more, which made spending time with John even better and more fulfilling than before. His love for John was no longer _desperate_ or _hopeless_ or _unhappy_ : it was just love.

The only reason why Sherlock wasn’t perfectly happy was that _John_ didn’t appear to be perfectly happy. It seemed clear to Sherlock that even though John liked Lara a lot and was obviously very attracted to her, his decision to marry her was practical rather than romantic – although Sherlock couldn’t see what exactly the practicality consisted in. John wanted a mother for Rosie, that was for certain, but that couldn’t be his only reason. One evening when they were sitting together by the fire sipping whiskey, Sherlock actually asked him if he was marrying Lara only for Rosie’s sake, and John looked at him like Sherlock had once again been utterly insensitive, and said, “Of course not.”

Sherlock didn’t probe further. He knew from his own experience now that the matters of the heart were infinitely complex and often incomprehensible to outsiders – he was pretty sure that to most people, choosing romantic partners based on their emotional unavailability would seem completely insane, and yet that was what Sherlock and Sanjay had done, and it had worked out extremely well for them. If John felt that marrying Lara would be good for him, then Sherlock simply had to believe him.

On a windy November afternoon, Sherlock therefore found himself sitting in the first row of an extremely uninspiring ceremony room of a suburban registry office, Sanjay on one side of him and Rosie on the other, watching John repeat marriage vows with a peace of mind he never would have expected feeling in such a situation. As John and Lara were pronounced married, Sanjay squeezed Sherlock’s hand in a gesture of mute support – Sherlock had told him he was fine, but Sanjay had still spent the last month being considerate and attentive (even more so than usual), clearly trying to distract Sherlock from thoughts of the wedding. Sherlock squeezed back, more than ever grateful for having Sanjay is his life.

Dinner was boring – Laura’s parents, teenage daughter and best friend with husband were all incredibly dull and there wasn’t any attempted murder to spice things up like last time. Not even attempted theft, so really, what was the point? But afterwards, as they were saying goodbye, it all became worth it, and it would have been worth it so much more: John hugged him.

Sherlock had lost all hope that he could ever have anything like that after he’d admitted to being in love with John and John had become so distant, but it seemed that was all in the past now. Sherlock was in a relationship, John was married, and John hugged him. Properly, too, pulling him close and holding on long enough for Sherlock to get over the shock and hug back: finally, after two one-sided embraces, a real, mutual hug. Sherlock bent his head, breathing him in, and he knew without any doubt that his mind palace would have to be entirely rebuilt around this experience.

And so, as miraculous as it was, Sherlock left John’s wedding very nearly _happy._ He got to hug John, and later he would get to make love to Sanjay. What more could he want?

Preoccupied as he was what he felt and what he _didn’t_ feel, it wasn’t until they were in the cab well on their way home that Sherlock realised Sanjay had been rather quiet throughout the day. Even now, while he was holding Sherlock’s hand on the seat between them, he was looking out of the window, slumped in his seat and clearly miles away. Sherlock cast his mind back, trying to figure out what could be the cause, but he couldn’t think of anything. Had the wedding reminded Sanjay of his own? But he’d been fine at Molly and Lestrade’s wedding last year, so that was unlikely to be the reason.

“Sanjay?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

Sanjay jerked and straightened up.

“What? Yeah, sorry, I just got lost in thought.”

It took Sherlock a while to identify the emotion on Sanjay’s face, mainly because it was one he had no reason to expect to see there.

“You feel guilty,” he said, frowning. “Why?”

Sanjay sighed. He bit his lip, avoiding Sherlock’s eyes. “I’m glad he got married,” he said eventually in a flat tone of voice. “Because now he can’t take you away from me anymore.”

Sherlock was speechless for a moment. He wanted to point out that being married had absolutely no effect on people’s ability to become involved with other people, but that was irrelevant – John had never and would never have any intention of “taking Sherlock away”. But perhaps it was only natural that Sanjay wasn’t as convinced of that as Sherlock was – after all, John wasn’t a dead husband, he was alive and there and often spent time with Sherlock. Sherlock hated the thought of Sanjay worrying about something like that, but maybe he should have anticipated it.

“I really don’t think anyone could blame you for feeling like that,” Sherlock said. “And definitely not me.”

Sanjay shook his head. “I should want what’s best for you, but instead I just want you for myself.”

That was simply ridiculous. Didn’t Sanjay see that those two things were actually one and the same?

“Sanjay,” Sherlock said firmly, and waited for Sanjay to finally look at him. “You _do_ want what’s best for me.” He cupped Sanjay’s cheek, and then he said what after today he was more certain than ever was the truth: “And I already have it.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

_July 2020_

They went on holiday together.

It was something rather new for Sherlock – it had always seemed preposterous to him to travel somewhere for the specific purpose of doing nothing. But with Sanjay, the idea suddenly became much more appealing – the prospect of being able to devote their time only to each other was actually rather tempting. Sanjay liked hiking, and Sherlock found he didn’t mind doing things Sanjay liked, even if to him the activity seemed rather pointless.

First they went to Glasgow to visit Sanjay’s twin sister Neela. Neela lived together with her husband, children and parents-in-law, which was, in Sherlock’s opinion, way too many new people at once. Spending three days in their house could have been torture, but as always, Sanjay made sure Sherlock was comfortable and had enough alone time to recuperate. Sherlock tried hard not to antagonise Sanjay’s only family, but it appeared that at least with Neela, he needn’t have worried: it seemed that she would forgive him anything as long as he made her brother happy.

Afterwards, they rented a secluded cottage and spent a few days hiking and enjoying each other. Sherlock found it, overall, more pleasant than he expected. The Scottish landscape was breath-taking and so was Sanjay, somehow even more beautiful in the wilderness than he was in London. Or at least Sherlock found him so – he knew, objectively, that Sanjay wasn’t _beautiful_. He could be described good-looking, in an unassuming sort of way, but not beautiful. He didn’t turn heads, people eyes didn’t linger on his face – but to Sherlock, he was captivating. He couldn’t get enough of looking at him sometimes, under a certain light, when Sanjay wore a particular expression, when his eyes crinkled a specific way. Or perhaps none of those things mattered – perhaps the thing that made Sherlock want to keep looking was the way he felt when he did it.

“What?”

They were on a hike and had stopped at the foot of a hill to drink, and Sherlock, instead of pulling out his own water bottle, just looked at Sanjay, with his head thrown back and his throat working as he drank, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, the contrast of his eyelashes against the dark gold skin. Sanjay caught him looking, and Sherlock wanted to say something like “I like looking at you” or “You’re gorgeous”, but what came out instead was

“I love you.”

Sherlock froze when he realised what he’d said, and the world around him seemed to still in sympathy. He heard Sanjay’s sharp intake of breath and suddenly Sherlock could no longer keep looking at him. In the two years they had been together, they had both expressed commitment and devotion to each other in various ways, but never using these three words. These words were off limits, something that belonged to other people in their lives. Sherlock knew he loved Sanjay – it was a feeling vastly different from what he felt for John, but he had no doubt that it was love – but he had never intended to _say so_ in so many words, to put Sanjay in a position where he’d feel obligated to respond in kind and feel bad for not being able to do it.

“Sorry,” Sherlock said hastily, trying to salvage the situation. “I didn’t mean – you don’t have to…”

Sanjay dropped his water bottle, aiming for his backpack but not caring when he missed and the bottle rolled into the grass. He reached Sherlock in two long steps and held his head in both hands, his eyes brimming with emotion.

“I love you too,” he said. “Sherlock – of course I love you.”

Sherlock blinked at him. His heart was suddenly beating very hard.

“You do?” he said stupidly. It wasn’t that he had doubts about Sanjay’s feelings for him, but he had always known he could never replace Chris in Sanjay’s heart. Perhaps, however, it wasn’t a matter of replacing as much as making room.

“Yes,” Sanjay said intensely. “I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear it.”

Sherlock suddenly felt like crying, which was ridiculous given that everything was good – better than good. But he had never expected to hear those words directed at him – not from Sanjay, not from John, not for anyone. To stop the surge of tears that threatened to spill, he reached for Sanjay clumsily and crushed their mouths together, kissing him with all he had. Sanjay responded with equal intensity. He pushed Sherlock’s backpack off his shoulders and Sherlock shrugged it off, indifferent to where it fell. Sanjay’s hands gripped in back and pulled him close, pressing their bodies together, and Sherlock went willingly, holding onto Sanjay just as tightly. Was this how it felt, to love and be loved back – the utterly overwhelming surge of joy?

They kissed hungrily, desperately, as if they had been apart for weeks. Sanjay swallowed the whimpers Sherlock couldn’t keep down as he liked into his mouth. Sherlock felt full to the bursting with feeling, and kissing wasn’t proving to be a sufficient outlet. Heat was pooling in his groin at an unexpected speed.

“I’ve discovered,” Sherlock panted when he managed to convince himself to let go of Sanjay’s mouth, “that requited love is an aphrodisiac.”

“Too bad we’ve got at least an hour to go before I can get you in bed,” Sanjay said, but he didn’t seem very intent on stopping right now – his mouth latched on Sherlock’s neck and sucked on his pulse point, making him moan. Sherlock pushed a hand between their bodies and reached for Sanjay’s crotch, finding him rock hard, and that sealed it for him: he wanted Sanjay _now_ and he didn’t care one bit that they were outdoors.

“Sherlock,” Sanjay said, and it was unclear whether it was meant as a protest or encouragement.

“We haven’t seen anyone all day,” Sherlock said breathlessly, squeezing Sanjay through his trousers. “We’re probably the only people in a five-mile radius.” He kissed Sanjay’s ear and whispered, “I want you.”

Sanjay pulled away from him and for a moment Sherlock feared Sanjay would actually refuse, but he scanned their surroundings and then looked at Sherlock, his pupils blown wide.

“Not on the path, at least,” he said, his voice rough with arousal.

They picked up their belongings from the side of the walking trail and made their way quickly to a nearby bush and a solitary pine. It wouldn’t provide any privacy if someone actually came by, but Sherlock couldn’t care less – he was so hard he could barely walk. He didn’t think he had ever become so aroused in such a short time. He pushed Sanjay against the trunk of the tree without ceremony and dropped to his knees, opening his trousers hastily. He wasted no time and swallowed him to the hilt, revelling in the musky taste and smell of him, Sanjay’s bitten-off cry, the weight of him on Sherlock’s tongue, but he knew already that it wouldn’t be enough: he wanted, _needed_ Sanjay inside him. He opened his own trousers quickly and pushed them down his thighs together with his pants, but he didn’t touch himself. Instead, he reached one hand up and brushed his fingertips against Sanjay’s lips.

“Sherlock,” Sanjay gasped, clearly understanding what Sherlock had in mind, and let two of Sherlock’s fingers slip into his mouth, sucking on them the way Sherlock sucked on his cock, stroking them with his tongue and coating them with saliva.

When Sherlock pulled them out he gathered a bit of his own pre-come for additional slickness and reached behind, pushing two fingers inside himself in one smooth movement. He prepared himself perfunctorily, humming around Sanjay’s cock as his fingers stretched him.

“Sherlock – Sherlock,” Sanjay panted, “are you sure? We don’t have any…”

Sherlock let Sanjay slip out of his mouth.

“Do I look like I’m not sure?” he said. He meant it to sound bossy and seductive, but he had two fingers working furiously inside himself and so it came out breathy and needy instead. It seemed to do the trick for Sanjay, however: he swore under his breath and knelt down beside Sherlock, reaching for him frantically.  Sherlock pulled his fingers out and turned around, settling on his hands and knees. They both preferred it face to face, but there was simply no time now to take off their boots and trousers.

Mercifully, Sanjay didn’t question Sherlock’s resolve further, he just positioned himself behind Sherlock, lined up and pressed in.

“ _Yes!_ ” Sherlock cried out as Sanjay breached him. It burnt a little – they had never done this without proper lube before – but it didn’t matter, it was more than worth the absolute, exquisite pleasure of having Sanjay inside him. Sanjay, who loved him.

“ _Oh_ , Sherlock,” Sanjay groaned. “You feel amazing. You okay?”

Sherlock nodded, not trusting himself to be able to form words. Sanjay stoked his flanks, as always mindful to give him enough time to adjust, before he took hold of Sherlock’s hips and started moving, slowly and shallowly at first, then gradually increasing the speed and depth of his thrusts as Sherlock relaxed around him. Sherlock dropped down to his forearms to allow for deeper penetration, and all residual pain was completely gone when Sanjay brushed against his prostate. He moaned loudly, pushing back against Sanjay’s cock.

They had never really had sex like this, so raw and unrestrained, but it felt absolutely right to Sherlock to give himself fully and completely to the man he loved, here, in the middle of an ancient landscape, under the wide, open sky. He gripped tufts of grass and heather to brace himself against Sanjay’s thrusts, and try as he might he couldn’t keep himself from being loud, from moaning Sanjay’s name and begging him for more – it was too overwhelmingly good, too intense to feel Sanjay inside him like this, claiming Sherlock’s body like he had, in the end, claimed his battered heart. Each deep, powerful thrust sent an electric current of pleasure through him that was mental as much as physical, and it didn’t take long before he could feel his orgasm begin to coalesce. Sanjay reached around and took hold of Sherlock’s cock, stroking roughly.

“Come for me, my love,” Sanjay said breathlessly as he thrust harder, and that was all Sherlock needed: his body spasmed violently and then he was coming, shuddering helplessly as and his cock spurted in Sanjay’s fist, again and again and again as he felt Sanjay’s own release spill within him and they rode out each other’s orgasms, wave after wave of intense pleasure coursing between them.

When it was finally over Sherlock’s body felt like it was made of jelly, and it took all the effort he could muster not to collapse right into the strips of come underneath him. He whimpered a little as Sanjay pulled out of him, and he lay down on his back, certain that his limbs couldn’t support him a second longer. Sanjay settled next to him, breathing heavily.

“Wow,” he said, “I can’t believe we did that. I think they could hear you in Inverness.”

“Hmm,” said Sherlock. He felt completely blissed out and he couldn’t be bothered to care about the grass tickling his bare bum, let alone what anyone anywhere may have heard.

“Are you all right?” Sanjay asked, stroking Sherlock’s face, caring and attentive as always.

“I’m fantastic,” Sherlock said, and he couldn’t stop a smile that no doubt looked completely silly. “I love you,” he added. He suspected that now that he had said it once, he may never want to stop.

“I love you too,” Sanjay murmured, kissing him softly. “Just let me clean you up a bit and check that you’re not hurt.”

Sherlock rolled to his side obediently and let Sanjay wipe him down gently with a tissue. He was positive there was no tearing, but he would certainly be feeling this for a while.

“I don’t think I can walk,” he said as Sanjay helped him pull his trousers and pants back up and tucked him in. “You’ll have to carry me.”

“Yeah, no way,” Sanjay laughed. “This was your idea, so now you have to bear the consequences. But I think we can stay here for a bit and rest.”

“Sounds good,” Sherlock said, shuffling closer to Sanjay. The ground was hard and uneven, but he didn’t care. He cuddled close to Sanjay, resting his head on Sanjay’s shoulder, and let out a sigh of absolute contentment.

*

Later, after they have managed to return to the cottage, they settled on the porch in the gathering dark, a glass of red wine in one hand, holding hands with the other. They sat for a while in companionable silence, then Sherlock spoke.

“You know, I rather like this.”

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“This – the cottage, the quiet, the remoteness.”

“You do?” Sanjay asked. “I thought you were just humouring me.”

“A little,” Sherlock admitted with a smile. “But I always thought… when I retire, I’d like to have cottage like this. And keep bees.”

“Keep _bees_?”

“Yes. They’re fascinating creatures, Sanjay.”

“Would you harvest honey?”

“I suppose so.”

“That sounds nice. I could make honey cakes and honey biscuits and things, and we’d sell them at farmers’ markets.”

Sherlock’s heart felt suddenly very full. He turned his head to face Sanjay, who was looking at him, his eyes reflecting the light of the single candle they had placed on the table. Sherlock squeezed his hand.

“Yes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry I didn't manage to reply to all of your comments on the previous chapter, but I really appreciate them all! Thank you <3
> 
> **ETA 25 June 2017:** I'm afraid I've hit a bit of a writer's block so the next chapter will probably take a while. Sorry! But I'm definitely going to finish this story, so stay tuned!  <3


	13. Epilogue

_September 2033_

Sherlock closed the hive and stretched, looking at the sky. The sun was high up – Sanjay would be back soon from his morning lecture. Sherlock should get started on lunch if he wanted to have something ready before Sanjay was back. Cooking was generally Sanjay’s speciality, but Sherlock liked to have something simple ready for him when he came home from work. He didn’t always remember, sometimes he got too engrossed in whatever he was doing to think about time or food, but he knew it was a way to make Sanjay feel cared for, and so he did his best not to forget.

He put his beekeeper’s suit away in the garden shed and walked back across the garden to the house. They had purchased the little secluded cottage a few years ago, when Sanjay got offered a job at the University of Sussex and Sherlock decided it was as good opportunity as any to hang up his spikes. He had given up detective work with no regrets – he had done good work in the years after he had come back from “the dead”, solved many interesting and challenging cases and could rarely complain of boredom, but the truth was that it had never been as fun as it had used to be back in the early days, before the fall, before Moriarty, before the consequences had become much too personal. With Rosie and later Sanjay in his life, flirting with danger had lost much of its earlier appeal, and Sherlock had been avoiding all cases that could potentially pose a threat to them well before his relocation to Sussex. Nowadays, he was still contacted fairly often by people requesting his services, both private individuals and police inspectors, and sometimes he agreed to help them, but mostly he just kept busy with his bees, his research, music composition, and Sanjay.

He entered the house through the back door leading to the kitchen. Bonny, their Irish setter, was napping under the table but jumped up the moment he came in and ran to greet him as if she hadn’t seen him for days. Sherlock scratched her head and then set about preparing lunch. He would make some sandwiches and heat up yesterday’s butternut squash soup. Sanjay would come home and they would eat together and then take Bonny for a walk, perhaps stopping at the Carters’ to check on the retriever puppy they would be taking home as soon as he was ready to be apart from his mother. Afterwards they would perhaps take a little nap, curled up in each other’s arms as always, to rest a bit before tonight’s ballroom dancing event in Brighton.

And then, tomorrow, John was coming. Sherlock smiled to himself as he sliced tomatoes for the sandwiches. The distance from John was the only drawback of his current life, but he wouldn’t have to worry about it for a while now – John would be staying for at least a week, very probably longer. Rosie had left for Cambridge (Sherlock was extremely proud of his little girl, even as he found it hard to accept that she was no longer little) and John was apparently having a hard time coming to terms with no longer having her around. Sherlock had expected something like that might happen, and he was proved right when a worried Lara called him, asking if he could entertain John for a while, as she was busy helping her daughter through a difficult pregnancy to be of much support to John. Sherlock had been more than happy to oblige.

It would be good to have John under the same roof again, and Sherlock was positive that he could get John out of whatever gloom he’d fallen into soon enough. He’d already caught wind of two little affairs at the village that they could investigate – trifling matters, really, nothing that the only consulting detective in the world and his trusted assistant would have bothered with, but they would work well enough as a diversion for a beekeeper and a moody GP. And then, if that wasn’t enough, Sherlock could always pick one of the requests for help that kept flooding his inbox. He didn’t really miss his old line of work, but having John by his side was definitely something he wouldn’t mind experiencing again.

Living far from each other and no longer working together had certainly taken some getting used to, but their friendship hadn’t suffered for it. Having Sanjay to love and be loved by had made Sherlock’s relationship with John easier and more rewarding, smoothing out the sharp edges in ways that Sherlock could never had expected when he had first decided to try opening his heart to someone else. John, for his part, had lost the badly buried anger and resentment of his younger years, which Sherlock had never quite managed to understand the cause of. His marriage to Lara seemed harmonious and comfortable even though it lacked (or appeared to from Sherlock’s outsider’s perspective) the… romance that Sherlock and Sanjay still enjoyed. He was a proud and attentive father to Rosie and an indulgent step-grandfather to Lara’s first grandchild, and looking forward to the second. Every time Sherlock had seen him in the last few years John had seemed mellow and content with his life, so there was no reason to suppose that this current black mood was anything more than a classic case of empty nest syndrome. He would be right as rain in no time, Sherlock would see to that.

And tomorrow, when John got off the train from London, Sherlock would greet him at the platform and they would embrace in a way their younger selves would never have done, holding on tight and breathing in each other in, like old friends with no pain or guilt or anger between them. Sherlock would never stop being grateful that they had managed to get to this stage.

Bonny barked, interrupting Sherlock’s musings. She ran towards the front door, waggling her tail excitedly, and sure enough, Sherlock heard Sanjay’s car pull up a moment later. Right on time – he had just finished making the sandwiches. He set the plate on the table and went to the door to kiss the man he loved hello.

A cottage, a dog, bees and honey, having an old friend come for an extended visit, greeting his partner of fifteen years as he came home from work… it was all so very different from how Sherlock had imagined or hoped his life would turn out – and so much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this chapter took so long and that after all this wait, all I can give you is a short epilogue. I originally planned two more chapters before this, but I just wasn't able to get them written. I tried different approaches, different POVs and so on and nothing worked, and eventually I figured that perhaps I was trying to artificially drag out a story that was essentially finished. I might come back to those two chapters or some other "missing scenes" from Sherlock and Sanjay's life at some point, but for now I hope that this is a satisfactory ending.
> 
> I hope that not too many of you are disappointed that there isn't a Johnlock ending. I was unsure who I wanted Sherlock to end up with for the longest time and even had a Johnlock ending planned out (as well as an open-ended one), but in the end, Sanjay won. If you would like to know how the alternative endings would have gone, feel free to drop me a line on tumblr - missselenewrites.tumblr.com.
> 
> Finally, thank you so much to everyone who's read and commented on this story. I never thought so many people would be interested in reading about Sherlock with an OMC, and your love for Sanjay completely blew me over. Thank you!
> 
>  
> 
> [SHERLOCK/SANJAY ART](https://missselenewrites.tumblr.com/post/172169849501/everyone-look-at-this-beautiful-painting-of)


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